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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Cliap.l?.2L2> Copyright No, 

ShelfiSifr^Ez- 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 







s 


L 


EZEKIEL’S SIN 


A CORNISH ROMANCE 


^,\pY 

j/nf PEARCE 

AUTHOR OF “ELI’S DAUGHTER,” “INCONSEQUENT LIVES,” ETC. 


** Here lies poor old John Hildebrod— 
Have mercy on his soul^ Lord God ! 

As he would do^ were he Lord God, 
And Thou wert poor John Hildebrod,''' 




NEW YORK 

GEO. H. RICHMOND & SON 






Copyright, 1898, by 
GEO. H. RICHMOND & SON 



. lv w ■-.Uf - i j’. Cvk-i V 





Contents 


CHAP. 

I. A TEMPTED MAN . 

II. THE OLD LIFE AND THE NEW 

III. A TEMPTED HOUSEHOLD . 

IV. SHADOWS .... 

V. AT THE EDGE OF FAIRYLAND . 

VI. SECRETS .... 

VII. THE CRABBER AND HIS WORLD 

VIII. A COUNTRY WOOING 

IX. SUNSHINE AND GOSSAMER 

X. LOVERS AND A LISTENER 

XI. PREPARING FOR THE WEDDING 

XII. SPRING ..... 

XIII. YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW . 

XIV. THE DAZZLE OF LOVE 

XV. THE WIND IN THE TREES 

XVI. WEDDED BLISS 

XVII. ANTICIPATIONS AND MEMORIES 

* i 

XVIII. THE HEART OF A GIRL;,,. ' 

XIX. ILLUSION AND DISILTjUSION 

XX. A LONELY MAN 

XXI. SIDELIGHTS .... 

vii 


PAGE 

1 

8 

16 

25 

34 

47 

54 

62 

66 

71 

75 

84 

89 


' i 


94 

98 

106 

111 

119 

121 

128 

134 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


” CHAP. 

XXII. 

THE CRABBER AND HIS SON-IN-LAW 

• 

• 

• 

PAGE 

142 

XXIII. 

IN THE ENCHANTED WOOD OF MEMORY 


• 

145 

XXIV. 

DAUGHTER VeVSUS WIFE 


« 


• 

151 

XXV. 

A MEETING ON THE MOOR . 


• 


• 

158 

XXVI. 

A MAN AND HIS BURDENS . 


• 


• 

167 

XXVII. 

EXHAUSTED AFFINITIES 


• 


• 

173 

XXVIII. 

A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE . 


• 

• 

• 

178 

XXIX. 

THE IRONY OF A SACRAMENT 


• 


• 

182 

XXX. 

A TROUBLED WATCH . 


• 

• 

• 

189 

XXXI. 

TIDINGS .... 


• 

• 

• 

197 

XXXII. 

PUT TO THE TORTURE 


• 

• 

• 

204 

XXXIII. 

CONFIDENCES 


• 

• 

• 

213 

XXXIV. 

TWO WOMEN AND A MAN . 


• 

• 

• 

224 

XXXV. 

AT THE END OF THE DAY 


• 

« 

• 

236 

XXXVI. 

AN ELECTRIC ATMOSPHERE . 


« 


• 

242 

XXXVII. 

THE DEFEAT OF THE OLD . 


• 


• 

246 

XXXVIII. 

A CONSCIENCE AND ITS KEEPER 


• 

• 

• 

250 

XXXIX. 

THE TRIUMPH OP THE YOUNG 


• 

• 

• 

255 

XL. 

HOPES AND REALISATIONS . 


• 

• 

• 

260 

XLI. 

THE RETURN OF THE SWALLOWS 


• 

• 

• 

264 

XLII. 

WATCHING AND WAITING 


• 

• 

• 

266 

XLIII. 

STORM .... 


» 

• 

• 

270 

XLIV. 

THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS 


• 

• 

• 

282 

XLV. 

THE HILLS OF REST . 


• 

• 

• 

293 


EzekieTs Sin 


CHAPTER I 

A TEMPTED MAN 

The tide had just begun to ebb that morning when Ezekiel 
Trevaskis set off for his crab-pots, taking with him his pro- 
visions for the remainder of the day — a jar of water, a potato- 
pasty, and a hunk of saffron cake. When the ebb was at its 
lowest, and the tide was practically dead, he was already 
far out on the distant fishing-grounds, with a fair stock of 
bait — gurnards, bream, and a few pollack — gathered in the 
brine-soaked bottom of his boat. 

Since then, he had emptied and re-baited his various strings 
of pots — which were scattered along the coast from Treen 
Dinas to the Bucks — had conveyed his catch from these to 
his larger store-pot near Polurrian, and had again sailed out 
almost to the solitary lighthouse on the Wolf ; meaning to 
end up the day by whiffing for mackerel, which just then 
were fairly plentiful round the coast. 

The flow, however, had commenced while he was tacking 
off the Longships — the most dangerous reef in the Land’s 
End race — and in a little while the vast tidal movement of 
tlie Atlantic had begun to make its effect felt from Scilly to 
Mount’s Bay. 

With the flowing tide the wind freshened slightly, and the 
seagulls seemed to grow busier and more alert as the slow 
rise and brimming of the water affected their various haunts 
and resting-places, submerging reefs and beaches, climbing 

A 


2 


EZEKIELS SIN 


slowly up the clifF-ledges, and generally passing, like a wave 
of change and unrest, over the main portion of their world. 

Innumerable things the tide swept in with it ; shoals of 
mackerel, with the shark-like dog-fishes in their wake ; 
weed-tangles ; drifts of wreck-wood from the open ocean ; 
the corks of a fishing-net cut adrift by a passing steamer ; 
huge floating jelly-fish ; a dead body here and there : per- 
haps, also, the secret weapon destined to wound to his un- 
doing some lonely toiler drifting on the seas, one whose grey 
life hitherto had been beyond reproach, but whom to-night 
Fate meant to put grimly to the test. 

Feeling the pulse of the tide now beating against him, 
Ezekiel instead of running towards the Wolf — whose lonely 
grey pillar was still a few miles distant from him — decided 
to turn back into the bay and follow the flow, whiffing as he 
went. He had practically enough bait for the next setting 
of his pots, having caught several large pollack between 
Pordenack and the Longships, and he decided that the 
mackerel which he might now catch, if any, he would take 
home for his supper, and for dinner on the morrow. 

A tall, lean man, six foot in his stockings, with a bony face 
and a big, beaked nose, and with a thick, heavy beard as 
grey as a badger, Ezekiel had a markedly individual ap- 
pearance : and sitting here in his boat, on the blue field of 
the Atlantic, he had the air of being thoroughly at one with 
his surroundings. The lower part of his face was painfully 
lean and sharp, the upper half, by contrast, seeming unnatu- 
rally developed, and his eyes were of a faint, dreamy blue, 
while in his ungainly ears he wore thin gold rings. His 
clothes, however, were less individual than his face. He 
wore a brine - stiffened, brown - stained duck ^^jumper**; 
woollen trousers, once of a dark blue, but whose present 
hue was a rusty indigo which was complicated by countless 
smears of tar ; a stout sou’wester, that had once been yellow ; 
and a pair of well-oiled, long sea-boots. His little boat 
looked also rusty and weather-beaten, as if the sea had 
gnawed at its planks and soaked them with her brine, and 
the grey rain had lashed it, and the wind had buffeted it 


A TEMPTED MAN 


S 


\ pitilessly, much as the storms of life had buffeted its occupant. 
The boat was patched (though that carefully) in a dozen 
different places, its ropes and sailing-gear were old and worn, 
it was markedly in want of a coat of paint, and it was as 
ill-furnished as it could be with reasonable regard to safety. 
Altogether it was very evident that, up to the present, 
Ezekiel had not made a success of his life. Whether or no 
it was now too late for him to do so, was a question that could 
be argued on, but could not be answered yet. 

About a week previously, a large steamer — homeward- 
bound from Australia, and carrying a score, or more, wealthy 
passengers — had been wrecked on one of the reefs off Scilly, 
and within the last few days three or four of the dead bodies 
had drifted into Mount’s Bay, borne almost abreast of Mouse- 
hole by the inflowing tide. These had been taken to Pen- 
zance by the fishermen who had fallen in with them, and 
there reported to the Custom House and handed over to the 
Receiver of Wreck : and one of the salvors who had earned 
a few shillings in this way was Ezekiel’s neighbour, Isaac 
Roscorla, such another lean old crabber as himself. 

As Ezekiel attended to his lines this afternoon, he was 
thinking more of Isaac Roscorla’s good fortune than of the 
silver-glistening mackerel he occasionally hauled in. Life 
was so persistently niggardly in its gifts to him that a few 
shillings added to the week’s income was something to make 
Ezekiel’s mouth water merely to think of; and as he let his 
imagination dally with the idea, there crept into his eyes a 
look not unlike hunger ; a look of restless, furtive dissatisfac- 
tion, with a dash in it of almost stealthy desire. 

The quiet loneliness of the sea was in itself a temptation : 
a temptation to brood over the immense duplicity of life — its 
cheating promises, its paltry performances; the trials and 
disappointments that had to be endured, and the pleasures 
that were always persistently out of reach. For the massy 
singleness and simplicity of the ocean — the absence of the 
confusing and multitudinous details which a land-scene often 
forces on the thoughts — has something of the cloisteral effect 
of a retreat ; and even an uneducated crabber, drifting lonely 


4 


EZEKIELS SIN 


across the waters^ occasionally finds himself succumbing to 
the spell. And Ezekiel, brooding sullenly over matters this 
afternoon, fell presently into such a moody bitterness of soul 
that, if he could have coined his life-blood into sovereigns, he 
would there and then have attempted the task. 

Not that he was thus greedy of money for himself. As far 
as he was personally concerned, he was reasonably content 
with his starved existence; not having imagination enough to 
desire anything better, or, at least, better on lines at once 
ampler and less grey. He had been a crabber all his life — 
with intervals of employment on the larger fishing-boats 
when the crabbing season closed and the pilchard fishing 
began — and under his father’s supervision he had learned 
how to bait a pot and how to disarm the crabs and lobsters 
taken from it, long before the down had begun to appear 
upon his face. Polurrian cove, with its half score cottages, 
had really been the world for him, as far as shore-life was 
concerned. When he was eight and twenty he had married 
Malva Polgrain, the daughter of an elderly crabber in the 
cove, and with this, and the birth of his five children by her, 
his experiences of life had practically been rounded off : the 
milestones along this route, and his adventures between them, 
summing up, so far, his knowledge of the world. 

No, he was not greedy of money for himself. Neither did 
he hungrily desire it for his wife. Like himself, Malva had 
been tamed and subdued by life, and, if she ever had been 
rebellious, she had long forgotten the mood. It was solely 
for his children that Ezekiel’s hunger was excited. Or, at 
least, for them in the first place and most directly : though 
certainly in the second place (so alloyed are human motives) 
it was to feed his jealous pride in them and his pleasure in 
their happiness. 

Of the five children born to him, only two were still alive. 
One, the first-born, had died in infancy. The third and 
fourth had been sons : and on these he had built his hopes. 
But the sea had lusted after them, and had strangled them 
in her hunger; and now one of them was sleeping quietly 
under the grass in Choone churchyard, and the other lay . . . 


A TEMPTED MAN 


5 


God alone knew where ! God^ and the old sea-mother, 
perhaps ? The second and fifth children were, however, still 
alive : and both (so Fate had willed it) were girls. Drusilla, 
the eldest, remained at home to assist her mother; though 
already, at six and twenty, she was hungering for wider 
experiences and was noticeably beginning to be restless in 
the nest : while Morvenna,^ the youngest, a girl of seventeen, 
was half a monitor and half a school-teacher in the little 
granite school-house up in the valley, midway between 
Polurrian and Choone. 

It was for Morvenna and Drusilla (perhaps chiefly for 
Morvenna) that Ezekiel hungered after what seemed to be 
for him the unattainable : not wealth, in the vague and 
grander meaning of the term, but a sufficiency of ready cash 
to make a shilling of no importance, and half a sovereign . . . 
well, a sum that could be spared cheerfully. 

The twelfth of May (now a fortnight distant) was ‘ feasten 
Sunday,’ the ‘ great day ’ of the parish : and at feasten-tide 
all the girls and youngsters, if possible, indulged in new 
clothes, or in new finery of some kind — even if it were only 
a necktie, or a new ribbon in a hat. Morvenna and Drusilla 
wanted to appear in new dresses, or, at the very least, in 
new spring hats : but, up to the present, Ezekiel, with the 
heartiest desire to humour them, had found himself unable 
to make a promise to that effect. 

Only this morning Morvenna had come pleading to him, 
coaxingly, to advance her half the amount of her quarter’s 
salary : which she would be able to repay him at midsummer, 
as he was aware. But Ezekiel had been obliged to tell her, 
most reluctantly, that it was as impossible for him to advance 
her the desired twelve-and-sixpence as it was for Cam Bargis 
(one of the headlands of the cove) to lean across and shake 
hands with its opposite neighbour Cam Mellyn. Morvenna 
had borne the refusal with reasonable self-control, but he 
could see, from her trembling lips, that she was deeply dis- 
appointed, and remembering how much a bit of finery meant 


^ Morvenna = the sea-maiden. 


6 


EZEKIELS SIN 


to a girl of her age, Ezekiel understood and sympathised 
with her disappointment. He felt that he would willingly 
have given a finger to have been able to meet her wishes and 
to have sent her off happy with a kiss and a ’ 

This request of hers was still playing on his mind as he 
sailed along past the grey front of Treen Dinas, with the 
great bell, swinging above the sinister Runnelstone,^ steadily 
tolling, tolling in his ears as the Atlantic surges swayed it to 
and fro. A few powerful herring-gulls occasionally winged 
their way past him, the light-skimming terns were wheeling 
about by scores, and now and then he saw the black head 
of a cormorant lifted above the water with a sudden alertness, 
accompanied by a momentary gleam of silver as the strong 
beak raised some writhing mackerel which an instant after 
vanished in the bird’s capacious maw. The boom of the sea 
against the granite coast-line, the lap and gurgle of the 
water around his boat, and the long, soft sighing of the wind 
across the waves, there were no other sounds to attract his 
attention, unless it were the shrill brief cry of a gull ; and 
Ezekiel, peering now into the glassy depths beneath him, 
and now gazing across the water to the distant cliffs and 
beaches, became gradually depressed into a mood so sombre 
that, if he had hauled up Satan at the end of one of his 
hooks, he would have been tempted to sell his soul to Him 
for the satisfaction of his desires. 

Presently, as he idly watched his lines, he noticed an ex- 
ceptional strain upon them — as if something unusually heavy 
were tugging at the hooks. 

A sudden heat of excitement flickering through his veins, 
he immediately set about hauling in the lines : and then 
became aware — with a throb of superstitious terror — that a 
long dark object was approaching the boat, as if held by the 
hooks, or else clinging to them. 

The answer to his secret craving for temptation had come 
to him in the guise in which he was best able to welcome it. 

^ The Runnelstone is a huge mass of granite, partly submerged, 
thrust up through the open sea about a mile from the shore. A large 
bell-buoy is moored in its vicinity. 


A TEMPTED MAN 


7 


To welcome it^ that is, supposing he should feel inclined . . . 
alone as he was (and he glanced over his shoulders with the 
nervous swiftness of fear) ... to treat it as a temptation, and 
not as anything worse. 

He knew w'ell the loneliness and hostility of the sea, the 
menaces of her savage lust, her secret grudges and her 
inhospitableness, and the thought of these shook him with a 
deep disquiet, as he glanced down now at the prey which she 
had seized, and tried to steel his trembling nerves to defy her — 
to defy her not for his fellow-men, but singly, and for himself. 

For a minute or two, Ezekiel, with his eyes glittering 
strangely, peered over the edge of the boat into the water. 
As he did so, under the bronze of its wind-and-sun tan, his 
bearded face seemed to grow almost wan, as if with a strange, 
half-terrified sadness. And meanwhile there drew near to it, 
at the end of the lines, another pallid face, a face bearded 
like his own, but with eyes that stared persistently and yet 
were as blank as stones. 

Ezekiel, in return, stared down at the floating body : stared 
at it hard, and long, and wistfully. And as he stared at it, he 
perceived that a couple of hooks had caught the drowned 
man by the heavy belt around his waist. 

But the fastenings of the belt had broken, and it was 
gradually becoming detached, owing partly to the weight of 
the body and partly to the movement of the boat. 

In a minute or two, unless he seized it from the boat, the 
body would slip from the belt and float away. 

Would the hooks hold the belt, or would that slip and sink ? 

He bent over the boat eagerly, his eyes shining with 
excitement, and began very slowly to draw in the lines. 

He was aware that, by doing so, he might possibly save the 
belt . . . but what of the body .? . . . It was slipping even as 
he touched the lines. 

... In his tragical isolation. Fate was tempting him to his 
undoing : holding out to him its hand of gold with an air 
of friendly secrecy. And Ezekiel, thinking of Morvenna (and 
of her almost solely), seemed to forget the hand of iron which 
was clenched behind its back. 


8 


EZEKIELS SIN 


CHAPTER II 

THE OLD LIFE AND THE NEW 

Already in the depths of Polurrian cove^ the westering 
sun was hidden from sight, though any one ascending the 
glen to the ridge of downs out of which it was carved 
would have seen the sun still glaring across the granite hill- 
tops that formed the backbone and main watershed of the 
peninsula. The sullen moan of the incoming tide was still 
audible all along the coast, and across the skerries and 
ledges, the reefs and haggard rocks, the long green rollers 
made a jabble of broken water which from the bleak sea- 
front looked threatening enough. 

A solitary raven was sailing high above the clifflops, 
uttering at intervals its hoarse, barbaric cawk ! in which 
the very spirit of its loneliness seemed to be concentrated ; 
a few kittiwakes and terns were fishing between the head- 
lands, and across the gorse-cushioned flank of Cam Mellyn, 
a kestrel wheeled and hovered restlessly. Lower down the 
sedge-warblers chattered among the flags, and a score or 
more black-backed, twittering swallows skimmed rapidly to 
and fro across the rush-fringed shallows where the streamlet 
bubbled tinklingly as it travelled to the sea. 

On a shelf-like terrace, or outcrop of rock, not three 
hundred yards from the boulders of the beach, stood a row 
of weather-beaten granite cottages, the thatched roofs half 
as tall again as the walls, and the small, coarsely glazed 
windows — two to each cottage-front — leaving the impression 
that they were altogether too insignificant to light up the 
interiors to any appreciable extent, so that one imagined 
the latter as always weighted with shadow, and having the 
atmosphere of a cavern or a tomb. 

In spite of the gulls and the wheeling swallows, a de- 

' Polurrian = the home of the sea-birds. 


THE OLD LIFE AND THE NEW 


9 


pressing air of mournfulness seemed to pervade the cove. 
Through the thin and hungry soil the rock thrust nakedly, 
the slopes were strewn with enormous blocks of granite, 
and except in the sheltered head of the valley and along 
the banks of the bubbling streamlet, the vegetation was of 
the scantiest, and showed but little variety ; gorse, broom, 
heather, and grass being monotonously repeated in every 
direction. The effect produced by the scattered boulders, 
and by the wild and unsheltered aspect of the glen, was 
heightened by the hollow moan of the breakers and the 
restless, dreary sighing of the wind : heightened also by 
the huge mural headlands whose fronts were already being 
drenched with spray, and whose sinister rock-masses, so 
enormous in their bulk, made the tiny granite cottages, 
clustered together on the sea-front, look forlorn and almost 
pitiful in their insignificance. 

All the chimneys of the little row were now beginning 
to smoke busily, and through the half-open windows and 
widely open doorways the crackhng and the pungent aroma 
of burning furze stole out pleasantly on the evening air. 

The work of the day for the women was almost ended, 
and that the labours of the men-folk were also drawing 
to a close was evident from the domestic preparations in 
the cottages, and from the occasional presence of a clean- 
aproned wife looking out from the doorway for the advent 
of her man. 

In the row, when the return of the men w^as expected, 
the women’s eyes invariably sought the sea: for here, in 
Polurrian, the sea was the great protagonist: every one 
had to wrestle with it, if they wished to live at all, and 
along its highway every one came and went — 7ventj now and 
then, unhappily, to return again no more. 

Even the healthy faces of the women at the doors did 
little to dispel the pervading sombreness. The homes at 
their backs were so poor and rude, and the women were so 
evidently the serfs of their surroundings — held in thrall for 
life to the loud-clamouring sea, and the lean and hungry 
hills about them — that the idea of a monotonous gloom in 


10 


EZEKIELS SIN 


their lives forced itself on the thoughts at every juncture 
he crumbling lines of breakers — toppling over, rising 
toppling over again incessantly — seemed the type of these 
lives, so isolated and so elemental, so apparently fruitless in 
their efforts, and so unrememberable in their effect. 

One after another, the half-dozen crabbers who dwelt in 
the cottages came creeping round the headlands from their 
crab-pots and fishing-grounds, and, anchoring their boats, 
came leisurely ashore. 

By the time the twilight had begun stealthily to obscure 
the scene, all the men were indoors except Ezekiel Trevaskis, 
whose boat even now was not in sight. 

Again and again Malva went to the door, arching her hand 
above her spectacles to peer across the cove, but she saw 
only the anchored boats of her neighbours, the grey tumbling 
waters, and the steadily darkening sky. 

Let’s start tea without waitin’ for’n, mother,” said Dru- 
silla, at last becoming impatient at the delay. " I’m as dry 
as a chirk,^ and as hungry as a hunter.” 

" No, no ; let’s wait : I’m in no hurry,” remarked Mor- 
venna : you know father doesn’t like to have his tea 

alone.” 

Take thy tay, ef thee want it,” said Malva to Drusilla. 
"Thee’rt like lazy Lurk — two stomachs to ayte an’ none to 
work.” And with that she went to the door again. 

In the shadows at the back of the cottages the bats were 
already abroad, and occasionally one flew squeaking past her, 
while the low, murmurous rustling of the flags, blended with 
the roughened utterance of the streamlet, travelled faintly 
and confusedly to her ears at intervals as the wandering 
night-wind drifted through the glen. Louder than all was 
the clamour of the sea between the headlands, the pounding 
thud and hammering of the breakers, and their long, re- 
treating growl as they clashed the boulders together, and 
rattled the drift of shingle that lay be ween, and under these. 

The great loneliness and desolation of twilight was on 


^ Cinder. 


THE OLD LIFE AND THE NEW 


11 


the cove — a loneliness whose note of pathos is even 
deeper than that of the night — and on the heart of the 
crabber’s wife there brooded heavily and drearily the sombre 
racial thoughts of the peasant, filling her with a deep, 
though inarticulate sadness. The toilers of the sea are 
at the mercy of every shifting change, and their wives 
are an anxious race, whatever their sweethearts may chance 
to be. 

'‘Thy man not come in yet shouted a neighbour, who 
could hear Malva’s restless movements on the granite door- 
step, the doors of all the cottages being open. 

“ No, you ; bra’ an’ late to-night, esn’a ? I ben ’spectin’ 
un in for the laast hour. Ded Isaac see un, as he was cornin’ 
up to cove, do’ee knaw 

Mrs. Roscorla shouted in the question to her husband, who 
accordingly came to the door to reply. 

“ Iss, you ; seed un just afore sundown. He was a bra’ 
way out : haaf way across the bay. He was whiffin’ for 
mackerl, b’leeve, when I seed un.” 

“Well, s’pose he waan’t be much longer,” said Malva. 

“ ’Spect not. Anyhow, he’s right ’miff,” said Isaac. “ Got 
in among a good school ^ of ’em, I ’spect. Thee’ll ha’ 
mackerl enough to-night to last’ee for a week. Unless, 
you, ’ added Isaac ruminantly, “ unless he’ve failed in weth 
a body from the Gannet, an’ ben an’ took un in to Penzaance 
this tide.” 

“ No such luck for my man,” answered Malva. “ He’s more 
likely to lose than to find, es ’Zekiel.” 

“ Well, we never knaw wha’s in the pot ^ ’till we empty it. 
Hopin’ waa’nt hurt nowan,” said Isaac. And with that he 
went indoors to his tea. 

By this time, the blurred grey waste of waters, with its 
headlands and its stretch of starless sky, was chiefly dis- 
tinguishable from the massed shadows of the valley through 
the white line of foam, where the breakers met the beach. 
But Morvenna, whose keen young eyes were questing to and 


1 Shoal. 


* Here meaning the crab-pot. 


12 


EZEKIELS SIN 


fro intently, presently cried out exultantly to her mother. 
There he is ! Just coming round Cam Bargis ! 

Malva studied the blurred scene from under the shadow of 
her hand. 

Iss, there he es,” she replied contentedly. " He's late, 
but he’ll soon be in to moorings now.” And she went 
indoors to complete her preparations. 

Meanwhile Morvenna ran lightly down the bank of shingle, 
and, standing at the frothing edge of the waves, waited there 
for her father, humming softly to herself. 

Owing to the headlands projecting on either hand, the 
chief anchorage of the boats (under the lee of Cam Bargis) 
was so veiled in shadows that it was impossible to distinguish 
anything in the cave-like blackness, and from the shore the 
boats there were now entirely invisible. But Ezekiel knew 
the sea-bottom of the cove — its ledges and shallows, its rocks 
and its patches of sand — with a more minute thoroughness 
than he knew the floor of his own kitchen, and he accord- 
ingly brought his boat to her accustomed moorings as easily 
as if it were broad day. 

To Morvenna, standing at the edge of the waves, her 
father had become invisible, a mere portion of the blackness, 
as soon as he had rounded the headland and crept in to 
his anchorage. Knowing well, however, where he would 
be likely to moor, she presently launched her voice at him 
through the shadows. 

Father ! Fm here waiting for you ! ” she called to him 
across the water: the sounds ringing out as purely as the 
notes of a treble bell. 

Ezekiel, out at the mooring-grounds, could just catch the 
cry ; but, owing to the trampling waves, he was unable to 
distinguish the words. He recognised the voice as being 
that of his youngest daughter, and in the mere recognition 
of it — so many memories did it set vibrating — he realised, 
with a strange, sudden poignancy of emotion, the gulf 
between the man who had sailed out of the cove in the 
morning, and the man who came creeping back into it now. 

He longed to see Morvenna ; yet felt half ashamed to face 


THE OLD LIFE AND THE NEW 


13 


her. Run home an’ tell mawther Fm cornin’ ! ” he shouted 
back to her. 

Fll wait- for you ! ” called out Morvenna ; catching 
nothing of his message except the familiar word^ " comm 1 ” 
And tossing back her short brown curls from her forehead^ 
she stood staring across the dusky stretch of sea towards the 
just-distinguishable line of the horizon. 

As she stood there staring, a faint silvery glimmer began 
to show above the sea-line, and the huge earth, slowly re- 
volving on its axis, presently revealed to her the wan-faced 
moon shining steadily in the far-off depths of space. 

The riband of shimmering light, unrolling slowly across the 
sea, finally reached the frothing edge of the waves, making 
the wet pebbles glisten like lumps of silver and the lips of 
the waves flush suddenly with life. 

A minute or two afterwards, she heard the plash of oars, 
and Ezekiel, in his tiny punt, became visible in the moon- 
light : the boat and its occupant (indivisible from the shore) 
bobbing up and down on the water like a sea-duck. 

As he stepped out of the little punt and began to haul her 
up the beach, Morvenna ran up to him, chattering briskly, 
and, putting her hands on the gunwale, began to haul at 
the boat with him. 

But Ezekiel, ordinarily so placid and deliberate, was now 
confusedly restless and agitated. He had the air of one 
surprised, and trying awkwardly to conceal something : as 
though a crime, or the clue to it, lay hidden in the punt. 

Pushing Morvenna’s hand away, he bade her hurry off 
home : he would follow her in a minute or two, as soon as 
the boat was up on the bank. And as Morvenna stood back 
in undisguised astonishment — his roughness, and the con- 
straint of his tones, equally surprising her — he stooped down 
and began to lift out a crab-pot from the boat. 

The strange, sombre glow of hidden superstition that 
lighted up the secret recesses of Ezekiel’s nature, Morvenna 
was dimly aware of, and had more than once been startled 
by: but his attitude towards the sea— his furtive, though 
hidden, terror of her— Morvenna had no more clear compre- 


14 EZEKIELS SIN 

hension of, than a barn-door fowl has of the impulses of an 
albatross. 

Ezekiel’s painful anxiety lest she should meddle with the 
thing he knew of, and should thus come under the menace 
that he conceived of as overshadowing him, was something 
that lay quite outside her imaginings. Even had she known 
all that had happened to him during the day, this phase of 
his thoughts would never have occurred to her. Seeing no 
other reason for his unusual conduct — his thrusting her aside 
so surlily, and his wish to get rid of her — Morvenna put it 
down as due to a touch of temper. The long day’s work had 
made him cross, she decided : and the slight to her (if a 
slight it were indeed meant to be) was practically forgiven as 
soon as it was offered. 

^^Let me carry it home for you, shall I, father Morvenna 
asked affectionately, as he lifted the crab-pot. 

No : I’ll carry it meself,” said Ezekiel roughly. 

Merely to procure this young life pleasure, Ezekiel had 
risked, perhaps had forfeited, his life-happiness. The know- 
ledge, which was as a cancer eating secretly into his life, 
created in him a mood of unusual sombreness. And at the 
same time the flinching sensitiveness that he ached with, 
as he began to realise the significance of his act, made 
him tremble lest, unwittingly, he should give a clue to 
his disquiet. In order to prevent such a stroke of misfor- 
tune, he took refuge in a taciturnity that presumably could 
reveal nothing ; and slouched heavily up the shingle without 
opening his lips again : Morvenna following him in silence 
with her eyes dimming mistily. 

Through the harsh, pounding clamour of the great foam- 
dabbled waves that hammered noisily and slavered thickly 
across the ridge of shingle, there was audible, at intervals, a 
long, plaining intonation, a sound whose melancholy cadence 
made the heart ache uncomfortably. It was the ceaseless 
gusty sighing of the wind that was drifting across the cove 
from the open Atlantic, whose vast plain extended almost 
limitlessly beyond the peninsula. But the briny smell of the 
sea, of the great wet tangles and coils of weed and of the 


THE OLD LIFE AND THE NEW 


15 


thin spattering of spray which the gusts scattered widely, 
filled the air with a delicious freshness that in itself was an 
anodyne. And Morvenna, merely following at her father's 
heels, and drawing the briny air into her lungs, began 
insensibly to feel her thoughts freshen in response and the 
wordless burden of unhappiness slide from her heart. 

As far as their fears and wishes were concerned, Morvenna 
and her father lived in worlds as remote from each other as 
if they were dwellers the one on the earth and the other on 
the planet Mars. While they were actually talking together 
(or while the echoes of the spoken words lingered in their 
minds) their thoughts, perhaps, came reasonably close. But, 
given a brief space of time, or a slight push of circumstance, 
and their minds were as far asunder as the poles. And as 
Morvenna follow'ed now at her father’s heels, with the wind 
in her hair and the salt spray upon her lips, and around her 
the but-half-veiled wonderland of night, her mind dropped 
the burden of Ezekiel’s crusty mood with a carelessness which 
would have caused him a cruel pang had he realised it, and at 
once set oflP on a quest of its own. 

Presently they came where the light streaming through 
the doorway picturesquely lighted up their forms and faces, 
and Ezekiel stopped for an instant to glance stealthily over 
his shoulder ; though rather, it would seem, to peer explor- 
ingly into the darkness than to seek his daughter’s eyes for 
a glance of recognition. For as Morvenna watched him wist- 
fully, prepared to greet him with a smile, she suddenly caught 
the strange expression of his face — the wild stare of the eyes 
and the latent fear in every feature — and her lips, which were 
parted to smile at him, remained open in sheer surprise. 

But Ezekiel, withdrawing his face as stealthily as he had 
turned it, again drooped his head and slouched heavily up 
to the door. 


16 


EZEKIELS SIN 


CHAPTER III 

A TEMPTED HOUSEHOLD 

^^What’ee got there, faather?” asked Malva, as Ezekiel 
entered the cottage. Thee’rt late to-night : tay ben waitin’ 
more’ll a ’nour.” 

"Onnly an owld pot that wants mendin’/’ said Ezekiel. 
And putting it in a corner, at the back of his chair, he took 
a pannikin of water and went out to wash his hands, the 
broad granite window-sill serving as a bench. 

Father’s tired-out, he’ll want to be let alone to-night,” 
remarked Morvenna, as she hung up her hat behind the door. 

" What did he lug home that owld pot for, then ? We 
don’t want it messing about here, after we’ve cleared up.” 
And Drusilla, half in petulance and half out of spitefulness, 
gave the crab-pot a vigorous kick that toppled it over and 
rolled it for a yard or two across the floor. 

" Eh } wha’s that ? Sounds like money ! ” cried Malva ; as 
the tinkle of coins, rolling and falling on the floor, suddenly 
became audible in the little kitchen. 

Money? why, it’s suvrins!” Drusilla called out excitedly, 
catching the glitter of gold on the lime-ash floor. 

Suvrins ! ” And Malva snatched up the candle and 
stooped to peer anxiously among the shadows of the kitchen. 

Drusilla was already on her knees searching eagerly. 

'^Here’s wan! — Here’s two! — Why, there’s a handful!” 
she cried excitedly. 

As Drusilla lifted her hand and showed a couple of the 
coins, Malva turned towards the door and called out in a 
troubled whisper, Faather ! faather ! come here, wust ’a ! ” 

But Morvenna, with the intuition that there was something 
wrong, had already hurried out to the door to her father. 

^^Come in, quick!” she called to him, in an agitated 
whisper. 


A TEMPTED HOUSEHOLD 


17 


Ezekiel needed no second summons. For half a minute 
he stared at her with his mouth falling open : and then, with 
the lather still white on his arms, he hurried into the cottage 
as if Fate were at his heels. 

Confronted by the light and the scene in the interior, 
he suddenly stopped short beside the big kitchen-table, on 
which his supper now stood waiting for him. Clutching at 
the table tightly with his great wet hand, his eyes sought 
his wife and stared questioningly at her face. 

“ Shut the door ! pull down the blind ! cried Malva 
falteringly. 

Drusilla, still on her knees on the floor with some half- 
dozen gold pieces clutched in her hand, stared up at her 
father and then glanced hastily at her mother, who was 
holding the candle in one trembling hand while with the 
other she tried to darken the light falling on the window- 
panes. 

But Morvenna darted forward and rapidly closed the door, 
and then, as Malva made a restless movement towards the 
window, Morvenna jumped on a chair and drew down the 
blind also. 

As Drusilla had lifted her face, with her fingers crooked 
greedily over the sovereigns, Ezekiel had irresolutely made 
a step towards her; but he immediately checked himself, 
compressing his lips tightly. 

Wiping his wet arms on the knees of his trousers, he now 
seated himself on a chair, like one heavy with excessive 
weariness, and, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of 
his trousers, he gloomily watched Drusilla, still eager at her 
task. 

Here’s any amount o’ suvrins, father, rolled out o’ the 
lump o’ net in this owld crab-pot ! ” remarked Drusilla in a 
loud, crafty whisper. And lifting one of her dusty hands she 
disclosed its contents to him. 

I knaw,” said Ezekiel gloomily. 

Malva scrutinised his features closely. " How ded’ee come 
by them, faather ? ” she asked anxiously. 

" How many do’ee make them ? ” quoth Ezekiel to Drusilla. 

B 


18 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


Brasilia raised herself slowly from her knees and squatted 
cross-legged on the sanded floor. Then, emptying the con- 
tents of her hands into her lap, she ran her fingers lovingly 
through the little heap of coins (like a mother running her 
fingers through the curls of her child), and eagerly began 
to count the coins she had collected. 

Counting aloud, her voice droned monotonously through 
the kitchen, no other sound breaking the silence. 

^^Wan . . . two . . . eight . . . ten . . . thirteen . . . 
fifteen . . 

Morvenna and Malva watched her with open mouths, 
though stealing an occasional furtive glance at Ezekiel. 

But the crabber kept his eyes fixed moodily on Drusilla’s 
fingers and the coins that she lifted and let drop as she 
counted them. 

I’ve got sixty-eight, father,” she remarked at last. 

" There should be eighty-five there,” said Ezekiel gruffly. 

Eighty-five suvrins, faather ! ” quavered Malva. Why, 
wherever ded’ee git them from ?” and her eyes questioned 
him nervously. 

Ezekiel sat in the chair so dull and so limply sinewless 
that he left the impression of one but half awake. He 
scarcely seemed to have heard his wife’s remark : at any rate, 
he ignored it and again addressed Drusilla. Thee’ll find 
eighty-five there, ef thee sarch for them,” said he. 

Drusilla pulled up her dress to make a pouch of its lap, 
and again began to forage around for the coins. 

Here’s some more . . . here’s anawther . . . here’s a 
nest of them ! ” she called at intervals. And then finally : 
^^Seventy-three . . . eighty-one . . . eighty-tw^o . . . eighty- 
three ... I caan’t find but eighty-three, father,” she com- 
plained 

There’s eighty-five there,” said Ezekiel stubbornly. 

Drusilla thrust her fingers hither and thither among the 
wickerwork, took up the tangle of old net and shook it 
vigorously, and then banged the pot upside-down on the 
hearth. 

Finally two more coins rolled out on the floor. 


A TEMPTED HOUSEHOLD 19 

There they are ! ” and Drusilla pounced on them eagerly 
and gathered them into her lap with the others. 

You was right ! There’s eighty-five right enough, 
father/’ she remarked, as she seated herself at the table 
and began to place the coins on it, a handful at a time. 

Well — there they are,” said Ezekiel gloomily, as he 
watched her again counting over the coins, and spreading 
them in a flat, shining mass on the table. 

Eighty-five suvrins ! ” ejaculated Drusilla, her finger-tips 
lingeringly feeling their surfaces as she contemplated them 
lying in a big group in front of her. 

" Iss,” said Ezekiel, gazing at them strangely : Twenty 

ayche for you girls, an’ five-an’-forty for your mawther.” 

Give mine to mother, father ; I don’t want them,” said 
Morvenna timidly. 

Ezekiel eyed her sombrely. "What about thy new dress 
for feas’en-tide ? ” he asked. 

I can do without it, father ; I don’t really want it. My 
Sunday one will look nice enough ; won’t it, mother } ” 

"Let me have Morvenna’s share, if she don’t w'ant it, 
father. Shall I } ” asked Drusilla, her eyes glittering with 
eagerness. 

" Where ded’ee git them from, faather ? ” persisted Malva, 
who, with the swiftly increasing momentum of anxiety, had 
passed now into a state of keen unrest. The reservations 
and indefinable half-beliefs of hope had gradually disappeared 
as Ezekiel stubbornly refused to answer her, and she felt 
herself now face to face with a great dread that made her 
tremble. "Where ded’ee git them from, faather.-^” she 
reiterated, watching him anxiously. 

" Take them or layve them ! What do I keer what thee 
do? I dedn’ bring them home for meself,” said Ezekiel, 
still refusing to meet the troubled, pleading eyes of his wife. 

" Can you give them back again, father, if we don’t want 
them ? ” asked Morvenna. 

" But I do want my share ! ” interposed Drusilla. 

" Iss ; when thee can turn the tide,” replied Ezekiel, 
ignoring Drusilla’s eager exclamation. 


20 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Malva clasped her hands tightly together across her breast 
and rocked herself to and fro in her chair. 

“ Was it wan o’ they bodies from the wreck } ” she 
ventured tremulously. 

Iss/’ said Ezekiel, with sudden asperity. Then, noticing 
the peculiar change in his wife’s features, he added sombrely 
and yet half defiantly, ^^Now thee knaw all — an’ I hope 
thee’rt satisfied.” 

Malva’s eyes, as she watched him, were tremblingly full 
of pathos. Thee done it for we, faather, I do knaw ; but 
I wish thee hadn’.” 

'^Wish! What good’ll wishin’ do now.^” And Ezekiel 
rose to his feet and began to pace the kitchen restlessly. 

Wish ! I wish I was dead, come to that.” 

Malva glanced at her husband with a sudden frightened 
look, and Morvenna with eyes full of soft, girlish pity ; eyes 
that gradually reflected something of the fear that dusked 
her mother’s. 

The air of the little kitchen was heavy with gloom. What 
in the boat had been only a temptation that could be toyed 
with, assumed here the aspect and proportions of a tragedy. 
Ezekiel recognised that there was upon him the doom of 
one who has sinned deeply: and his recognition of this — 
his horror of it, and rebellion against it — seemed insensibly 
to steal the vitality from every one. It was like the stain 
of a crime soaking slowly through them all : a feeling that 
guilt was on them, and a wondering doubt as to what it 
implied. 

Even Drusilla, though firm in her desire to retain the 
money, felt a secret, chilling shiver as Ezekiel voiced the 
gloom in him. She wanted her feasten-tide finery, it is 
true ; and she quite meant to have it, now that the thing 
was possible. But she wished (a little drearily) that it had 
been gained at a lesser cost. If the price of it must be paid 
in discomfort — well, she begrudged the price. 

For some time Ezekiel paced up and down the kitchen, 
his hands in his pockets, and his brows knitted gloomily. 
He scarcely tried to think, or even to realise his position ; 


A TEMPTED HOUSEHOLD 


21 


he was merely full of a strange, aching pain, and of a wordless 
disappointment as deep as it was bitter. 

Presently Morvenna timidly renewed her suggestion. 

Couldn’t you return the money somehow, father ” she 
asked softly. 

" To who } quoth Ezekiel, with unexpected harshness. 
^^To the say, who’ve got the body.^ or to the Customs in 
Penzaance } ” 

^^What nonsense!’* cried Drusilla. ^^We got as much 
right to it as anywan, sim to me. It’ll do far more good 
to we than being at the bottom of Mount’s Bay ; or in 
somewan else’s pocket, for the matter o’ that.” 

Aw dear ! aw dearl ” sighed Malva drearily. “ I don’t like 
it ’t all. Whatever shall us do } Must us keep it, faather, 
railly ? Cudn’ee return it nohow, don’t’ee think } ” 

Ezekiel burst out into a sudden gust of anger. ‘‘ Return 
it ? Chuck it into the say, ef thee like ! What do I keer 
what thee do weth it, any of ’ee — cuss the trash ! ” 

Of course we must keep it now,” Drusilla interposed 
promptly, her fingers still toying with the coins on the table. 

I’m much obliged to’ee, father, for my share, at any rate. I 
ar’n’t too proud to take a present, if awther folks are.” And 
so saying, she began to count out her share of the money : 
placing it in a separate little pile in front of her. “ Changed 
your mind — goin’ to have yours ? ” she asked Morvenna. 

“I’d rather not — if father don’t mind,” said Morvenna, 
watching Ezekiel wistfully as she spoke. 

“ Darned ef I keer what any of ee’ do weth it ! ” cried 
Ezekiel impatiently, his deep bass voice striking its angriest 
note. “ Take it out o’ me sight 1 Else I’ll chuck it into 
the fire meself !” 

Drusilla went to the dresser and reached down an old- 
fashioned wooden tea-caddy. In this she slowly, and with 
something like greedy reluctance, placed the share of the 
money apportioned to Morvenna and her mother. Her own 
twenty sovereigns she secured in a corner of her handker- 
chief, which she then tied into a knot and placed carefully 
in her pocket. 


22 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


Put it upsteers somewhere out o’ sight/’ said Malva, 
indicating the tea-caddy with a movement of her head. 

In our room, mother ? ” suggested Drusilla. 

"No, please ! If mother don’t mind,” said Morvenna. 

"Put it in mine an’ your faather’s,” answered Malva. 
"Ef it do trouble our draymes, we must put up weth it, 
s’pose.” 

Drusilla accordingly lighted another candle and plodded 
upstairs with the tea-caddy in her hand. 

" Come, faather ! set down an’ take thy supper,” said 
Malva. 

"Don’t want it — arn’t hungry,” replied Ezekiel gruffly. 
And he continued to pace up and down the little kitchen, 
the sand grating harshly under his heavy boots. 

" Nonsense ! thee must be hungry,” said Malva. " Here ! 
come an’ set down ; we ben waitin’ long enough. Take thy 
tay, Morvenna.” And she began to pour out the tea. 

Ezekiel seated himself in silence, to put a stop to the 
discussion ; years of married life having taught him this 
much of wisdom. 

For a little while he merely sat with hanging head, staring 
moodily at the candle and the tea-things on the table. But 
presently, when Malva and Morvenna were taking their tea, 
he took up his cup and emptied it at a draught. 

Malva hastened to refill it, and again place it before him : 
and in this way " the ice was broken ” at last. 

Outside the cottage the night-wind moaned eerily, the 
distant trampling of the tide was faintly audible at intervals, 
and the fire roared and flared in the draughty chimney. 

The meal was a strangely quiet one, in spite of Malva’s 
attempts to "make conversation,” and the sound of Drusilla, 
light-heartedly singing in her bedroom, apparently did 
little to dispel the gloom that weighed on those in the 
kitchen. To Morvenna sitting here dumbly at the table 
and making a pretence of devoting her attention to her 
tea, it seemed one of the most cheerless times she ever 
remembered : second only to that windy, dreary afternoon 
when her drowned brother was brought in by her father 


A TEMPTED HOUSEHOLD 


23 


and Isaac Roscorla, and was laid stark and dripping on the 
floor beside the hearth. 

When the meal was half over, Drusilla came leisurely 
down the stairs, humming cheerfully to herself a snatch of 
ranting song. Pouring out some tea, she took the cup in 
her hand, and seated herself in the settle that was placed 
close to the chimney. Here, in the cosy neighbourhood 
of the fire, she drank her tea cheerfully and tried to start 
a conversation. But the effort ended in a failure so com- 
plete that she abandoned the attempt and began to hum 
instead. 

The contrast in mood between the two girls — Drusilla 
accepting the gold and laughing at the stain on it, and 
Morvenna as afraid of the money as if it were a serpent — 
was so great that not even the least observant could ignore 
it. And Ezekiel, as he pushed away his cup and filled 
his pipe, fell a-m using with a very bitter flavour in his 
thoughts. 

Vaguely — very vaguely — he recognised the pitiless irony 
of Fate that had made a punishment for his sin, at the very 
outset, by its mockery of the way in which he had planned 
his gift of pleasure : he had intended so much for Morvenna, 
and to Drusilla had fallen all ! 

A big blonde w^oman — she was six-and-twenty — with a 
soft smooth skin almost satiny in its aspect, Drusilla made 
an agreeable picture for the eye, and Ezekiel, in other 
scenes and on other occasions, had often been proud of her 
attractive appearance. She was somewhat over the middle 
height, and had the firmly rounded shapeliness of a young 
wife rather than that of an unmarried woman. Her face, 
too, like her form, was modelled rather on the lines of 
curving fulness than on those of daintier grace and <!harm. 
She had a short upper lip and a full, rounded chin, moist 
red lips, of which the lower one drooped slightly — every 
now and then giving a glimpse of her even teeth — and the 
irises of her eyes were of a deep blue, in certain lights, 
in fact, inclining to blackness. Her hair was of a warm, 
reddish brown, and was of a soft almost silky appearance. 


24 


EZEKIELS SIN 


and even in its twisted coils at the back of her head it 
left the impression of that warm abundance which was so 
characteristically her note.” 

Contrasted with her big, blonde sister, Morvenna, with 
her rounder, apple -cheeked face, her sweet blue eyes and 
her frizzle of brown curls, seemed even more girlishly un- 
formed than she actually was — and perhaps also a little 
more trivial and insignificant. Though it was not unduly 
small, she had one of the prettiest little mouths imaginable, 
and there was such a gay and roguish curve in its lines that 
it was as slyly provocative as it could very well be. The 
shy affectionateness of her nature (which, perhaps, was her 
most characteristic trait) was, in fact, revealed chiefly in her 
voice and in her eyes : eyes of a blue so delicately pure, and 
at the same time so winsomely sunny in their expression, 
that to look into them was enough to ^^turn the head” 
of a young man and to make an older man almost wish 
back his youth. 

The contrast between the sisters physically and mentally, 
was almost equally noticeable in their dress. Drusilla had 
the Cornish fisher’s love for brilliant colours and for as 
much reasonable show as her figure was capable of: whereas 
Morvenna — her training as a school-teacher perhaps assisting 
— usually dressed w'ith a sober neatness which, in the homely 
little interior, gave her an air that was almost refined. As 
if to accentuate the diversity still farther, while Morvenna 
was what the girls called a bit good” — in other words, 
still retained the fragrance of the Sunday-school and hitherto 
had escaped being cheapened by sweethearting — Drusilla 
had the reputation of giving her kisses rather freely, and, 
although no harm had ever been spoken of her, she had 
already had more than one sweetheart in her day. 

From Ezekiel, of course, half of either’s nature was hidden, 
but he knew enough of both, through the revelations of the 
hearthside, to feel that Morvenna in her affectionateness 
came closest to his heart, and that Drusilla, with the heat 
in her blood making her hungry, was always looking away 
beyond him towards the world she wanted to reach, and 


SHADOWS 


25 


for which (he told himself as he watched her here this 
evening) she would thrust him aside gladly — if she only 
had the chance. 

^'It was for little Morvenna I done it,” Ezekiel mused 
bitterly, an’ the awther wan’ll have all, an’ the little wan 
nawthin’. Owld Nick have chayted me finely — as I’ve 
all’ys heerd ’a do.” And the mockery of his sacrifice was 
as wormwood to his thoughts. 


CHAPTER IV 

SHADOWS 

For two or three days Ezekiel moped considerably. Even 
when his thoughts had sunk beneath the tide of sleep into 
the dim underworld of dreams, his experiences apparently 
unnerved or disquieted him ; and morning after morning he 
rose moody and unrefreshed. The cry and yearning in the 
blood for the satisfactions of life — satisfactions in which the 
feeling of being justified to one’s self should be among the 
uppermost, permeating all; the sense of despair, born of 
constant disappointment; the anguished thoughts which a 
man will hide from his fellows, but which his own heart 
dumbly aches to the pain of: all these seemed blended to- 
gether vaguely in Ezekiel’s consciousness; till the depres- 
sion of the mood weighed so heavily upon him that he felt 
beaten to the ground by Fate and helplessly crushed beneath 
its heel. 

Though he visited his pots and fished for bait as usual, he 
remained at sea for the briefest period that was possible 
under the circumstances ; and he rarely fished more than a 
mile or two from land. It seemed to him that all was over : 
that he must fold his hands and wait his doom. 

Gradually, however, he recovered not a little of his elas- 
ticity, and fell again into the old daily rut. By the end of 
a week, he had resumed the ordinary routine of his life with 


26 


EZEKIELS SIN 


no appreciable variation in a single detail : at least, none 
that could have been detected by any one but himself. 

In his heart, however, he knew himself — and felt — a 
different man. He was no longer a man with a clean record 
for the scrutiny of his fellows, he was a man full of veiled 
suspicions, a concealed trouble haunting and preying on him ; 
one who, with righteousness as his ideal, had for his familiar 
a secret sin. 

Meanwhile the money, which Ezekiel neither touched nor 
talked of, played its part silently, but effectively, in the life 
of the cottage. To Morvenna it was a hateful thing, and, 
from the fact of being hated, was to that extent a thread in 
the pattern of her life. Malva loathed it, but thought of it 
often, and occasionally was even tempted to make use of it. 
But she resisted the temptation with something of the super- 
stitious feeling that the coins were like serpents’ eggs, and 
she must see first how they would hatch. In other words, 
she would wait until some one should begin to use them, that 
she might see what would happen — and perhaps be guided 
by the result. 

But Drusilla had none of these fantastic ideas. She would 
spend her share of the money, and take the risk — if there 
were any. Though, that there was really any risk, she pre- 
tended entirely to disbelieve. 

The morning after she had received her money, she was 
anxious to go to Penzance to make her purchases ; hungering 
at once to get her weapons for the coming fray at feasten- 
tide. But her mother interfered, and half dissuaded, half 
stopped her. 

Wait a day or two : the money may be awned or some- 
tilin’. While ’tes here we can return it : but when ’tes wance 
spent, the mischief’ s done,” remarked Malva. 

^'Nonsense! Who’s cornin’ to awn it.^” said Drusilla. 

The dead waan’t come alife merely to frighten we. And 
suvrins caan’t be traced like a cow or a tay-cup.” None the 
less, however, she held her hand in the matter, and, though 
fuming at the delay, made use of the interval to plan her 
purchases to the best advantage and to discuss sundry ques- 


SHADOWS 27 

tions as to colours and materials and other matters of equal 
gravity. 

But on the third morning after the gift of the money, 
Drusilla could restrain her impatience no longer. When 
Ezekiel, still glooming, had gone out to his crab-pots and 
Morvenna was at school busy with her class of infants, 
Drusilla took the opportunity to inform her mother that she 
had made up her mind to go to Penzance that afternoon. 

So thee’rt goin’ to risk it, are’ee ? ’’ asked Malva anxiously. 

Risk what ? ” quoth Drusilla. The money’s our awn, 
esn’t it } Father gov’ me my share, and I mayne to stick 
to it.” 

Folks’ll be talkin’, ef thee come out in too much finery 
all of a sudden.” 

^^Well, le’ them talk. It’s the first chaance I ever got in 
my life to git a new rig-out from top to toe. I may never 
git anawther, if I le’ this slip.” 

“Thee’rt thinkin’ o’ Joe Rosevear,” remarked her mother, 
eyeing her closely. 

“Well, if I am, where’s the harm.f^” retorted Drusilla. 
“P’raps he’s the last apple left on the tree, for me. If I 
shake all my life I may never get anawther.” 

“ Thee’ll pay too dear, ef thee pay thyself for’n ! ” 

“ I shall risk it, anyhow ; if I git the chaance. He’s good 
enough for me, if I’m good enough for he.” 

“Well, a toad es a jewel in a duck’s eye, ’tes true . . .” 
began Malva, when Drusilla abruptly cut her short. 

“ You threw your shoes among the old folks’ ^ long before 
you was my age. There isn’ no chaance here for a girl in 
thaise days ; with half the men in America and the other 
half marr-ried. There’s Morvenna’ll be cornin’ to the front 
in a year or two. And besides I’m gittin’ up : six-an’ -twenty. 
Very soon it waan’t be, ^Who will I have.^’ it’ll be, ^Who’ll 
have me ? and thank you for the chaance ! ’ I’ve seen that 
May-game before to-day, and I don’t mayne to play a part in 
it, thank you ! ” 

^ To “throw one’s shoes among those of the old folks,” is a local 
euphemism for getting married. 


28 


EZEKIELS SIN 


'^Well, well, go thy awn way/’ said her mother. "Thee’ll 
plaise thy mind ef the plague thy heart, s’pose.” 

^^I’m willin’ to take the risk,” Drusilla replied care- 
lessly. 

Presently, when Morvenna came home from school, she 
heard of Drusilla’s intention and was greatly troubled. She 
tried hard to dissuade her sister from the undertaking ; but 
Drusilla refused stubbornly to forego her purpose. Morvenna 
had a kind of superstitious foreboding that the whole of 
their future might be affected by this jaunt : not only 
Drusilla’s matrimonial prospects, but the general fortunes 
of the household — their happiness in its entirety : and she 
accordingly pressed her objections almost to the point of a 
quarrel. But again she was defeated. Drusilla would not 
budge an inch from her stubborn purpose. 

As this would be the first spending of the money which 
had fallen into their hands with such a rust of sin on it, what 
came of spending it now (thought Morvenna superstitiously) 
might perhaps give them a clue as to how it would act in 
future, if any one again should be bold enough to draw on it. 
And the wilfulness of Drusilla in thus tempting Providence 
in order possibly to be made a judgment ” of, finally assumed 
in her sister’s eyes something of the act of one possessed ” : 
the act of one who was merely an instrument in the hand of 
something out of sight. 

Morvenna shivered for her sister’s happiness, but recognised 
that she was powerless. She could only look on tremblingly 
and wait for the result. 

But if the dead man, now tossing among the weeds of the 
Atlantic, knew that the money which he had planned for 
other uses in London was being spent by a crabber’s daughter 
here in Cornwall — the daughter of a man who to his body 
had refused even the rites of burial — he made no sign, malig- 
nant or otherwise. And the gold itself, as it passed from 
Drusilla’s palm into that of the shopkeeper, remained as 
commonplace, and devoid of any sinister individuality, as if 
not the faintest stain of a tragedy had touched it from the 
moment it was coined up to now. 


SHADOWS 29 

Fate 7mg/il be watching the transaction : but it certainly 
held its hand. 

Trudging home from Penzance with her purchases in her 
armSj Drusilla_, just after passing Newlyn^ was overtaken 
by Joe Rosevear. Joe was a carter in the employ of a 
Mr. Pengelly, whose mill — the only one in the immediate 
neighbourhood — was situated at the head of Polurrian valley, 
about half-an-hour’s walk from Ezekiel’s cottage. Joe had 
been delivering some flour to one of the shopkeepers in 
Newlyn, and was now driving home through the afternoon 
sunshine, the empty waggon rattling companionably at his 
back. Espying Drusilla trudging on ahead of him, he at 
once hastened on, and oflered her a lift. Drusilla, of course, 
accepted willingly; and Joe, jumping down, gallantly assisted 
her into the waggon, as he was too small a man to lift her 
in bodily. 

Once in the waggon, and the vehicle again rattling home- 
ward, Drusilla and Joe were soon deep in conversation. 
Drusilla was willing to make the talk as friendly as she 
dared ; but Joe, though an amorous little man in the 
main, believed he knew his own value (possibly he over- 
rated it) in the scantily furnished market for husbands 
in the parish. . So he was not anxious to commit himself 
beyond the possibility of retreat : at any rate, not with a 
girl whose pockets, presumably, were every whit as empty 
as his own. Accordingly, although he was willing to be 
friendly, he restrained his speech, and even his glances, 
with praiseworthy success. With a success, indeed, too 
great for Drusilla’s contentment, since it left her with 
only a spider’s thread of compliments to cling to, instead 
of with the six-stranded cable of implied promises which 
a wooer more ardent would have spun for her under the 
circumstances. 

Joe was a little red-haired man, with a head as round and 
almost as hard as a cannon-ball, and with a long man’s body 
set on short stumpy legs. He had a carroty moustache and 
a thickly freckled face, and a nose at least three sizes too 
large for him. Yet, in spite of these drawbacks, he con- 


so 


EZEKIELS SIN 


sidered himself reasonably good-looking ” ; indeed, in more 
ways than one, decidedly attractive to the womenfolk. And 
he lived up to the belief with the full gravity of his character. 
It often amused him to remember how the maidens eyed ” 
him, and how they '^prinked” themselves before him to 
attract his attention. In fact, the great duel between the 
sexes, and the fascination (in the last resort, the coercive 
tyranny) which they exercise over each other, either secretly 
or openly, was reported to Joe by his alert intelligence, 
as an individual effect — an impression personal to himself. 
Accordingly, being anxious not to sell himself too cheaply, 
Joe was careful to safeguard his utterances to the maidens 
that he might not be snapped up in spite of himself, and one 
day find himself (all unexpectedly) being led to church like 
a lamb to the slaughter-house. 

He liked Drusilla, but then he liked other girls also, 
whether more or less than he liked Drusilla, he was still 
unable to determine. The motive-impulse that should crys- 
tallise his fluid ^Hiking” into ^Hove" had not yet sent its 
shiver through his heart, and he waited calmly upon Provi- 
dence for the unfolding of her plans for him, feeling sure 
that she would treat him as handsomely as he deserved. 

Owing to this diplomatic reticence on the part of Joe, 
it was around ^Hhe feast” that the conversation chiefly 
centred this afternoon, and the exchange of views between 
Drusilla and her circumspect companion was as reasonably 
animated as the circumstances permitted. 

^^’Spect there’ll be plenty o’ fine feathers ’mong you 
maidens at the faist,” remarked Joe, with a knowing wink 
at Drusilla’s bulky parcels. 

Iss : b’leeve most of us are grawin’ them now. The 
paycocks waan’t be in it when we’re all on shaw.” 

No ; ’spect not. We poor bachelors waan’t be wanted 
then. Onless ’tes as looking-glasses, for you maidens to 
see yourselves in.” 

^^All depends on how thee behave theeselves,” said 
Drusilla. If thee’rt rayle nice to us, we may be kind 
to’ee . , . p’raps,” 


SHADOWS 


SI 


“ What ! kind to us ay ven when you got your best clo’se 
on ! ” and Joe pretended to sway on the seat, as if overcome 
with faintness. I’m sure I shall be too shy to look at’ee,” 
he protested. ^^Onless I hold up a cabbage-leaf and geek^ 
through the snail-hawls.” 

‘‘ So I fancy ! ” said Drusilla, with a sly, provocative glance. 

Wonder thee warn’t too shy to be christened.” 

"So I ’most was. I cried all the time,” said Joe, with 
a grin. 

^^Iss; no doubt. ’Spect, as thee’rt so nervous, thee’ll 
be too shy to be ^ asked out’ in church, when thy time 
do come.” 

" Iss ; golly ! I cudn* face it to be made a, king ! ” said 
Joe, with another theatrical shudder. 

" Thee’ll have to, wan day, merely to be made a husband.” 

" I caan’t ! ” said Joe, holding up his hands in affected 
horror. " I’m as shy as a slug in a cabbage. I caan’t do 
it railly ! ” And he pretended to shake all over, like Punch 
in the puppet-show. 

Strange, a putty young maiden shud make’ee shevver 
like that ! She ha’n’t robbed a corpse an’ got the cold 
hand : have she ? ” called a queer, cackling voice from 
somewhere near them. 

Drusilla and Joe, hitherto oblivious of their surroundings, 
stared right and left in undisguised astonishment, and 
suddenly espied, by the side of the waggon, a rickety, 
weather-beaten pedlar’s van, drawn by a small, rough-coated 
pony, and with a little, humped figure sitting back on the 
shafts. 

" ’Tes Tom the Hangman ! ” cried Joe and Drusilla 
simultaneously. 

The encounter was not a particularly desirable one, owing 
to the sinister reputation of the pedlar, and the idea that for 
a courting couple to meet him was scarcely lucky. Joe ac- 
cordingly whipped-up his horse without a word and drove 
ahead of the little van as rapidly as he could. 


1 Peer, or pry. 


32 


EZEKIELS SIN 


IsSj drive on as fast as you can ! ” the queer little figure 
cackled as they passed him. ^^You young wans are all’ys 
in a hurry to git somewheer. No need to hurry ! you’ll git 
theer right enough wan day. And there’s plenty o’ room — 
it waan’t be filled in your time. Drive right ahead ! Owld 
Nick’ll make’ee welcome ! ” and with that he fell to laughing 
and chuckling to himself. 

The pedlar, known as Tom the Hangman, was a swarthy, 
hairy, undersized individual, with the coarse and somewhat 
repellent features that characterise the oldest strata of the 
races in the peninsula — the aboriginal races whom the Celts 
reduced practically to a condition of slavery. The type, 
with its marked facial degradation, has persisted down to 
to-day in nooks and corners of West Cornwall, and, with its 
beady black eyes, its dark-grained skin and low brow, its 
stunted stature and its lanky black hair, it is immediately 
recognisable (from the racial point of view) as an older and 
inferior survival in the population. In addition to his merely 
inherited peculiarities, the pedlar had also a troll-foot,^ and, 
rightly or wrongly, was generally credited by the peasantry 
of the district with being as cunning and as spiteful as Old 
Nick himself. It was admitted, however, that, if he had 
Old Nick’s cunning, he had also Old Nick’s cleverness. He 
was a tinker, scissors-grinder, basket-maker, chair-mender ; a 
pig-sticker, a horse and cattle doctor, a charmer ” of warts 
and other ailments; a bit of a conjurer” (which, in West 
Cornwall, means a dabbler in witchcraft), and, in addition, 
was a really clever player on the fiddle ; the old dark-brown 
instrument, that he cuddled so lovingly against his chin, 
being apparently the one thing in the world that he felt 
affection for. 

As if his character were not otherwise unattractive enough, 
he had once applied for the post of assistant-hangman — the 
application leaking out through a paragraph in the papers. 
Although he had failed to obtain the post, the uncanny re- 
putation of this sinister freak of his clung to him persistently 

1 In Cornwwall, club-feet, from their hoof-like appearance, are called 
troll-feet, and the devil is always spoken of as troll-footed. 


SHADOWS 


S3 


for the remainder of his life,, and to a certain extent coloured 
the popular estimate of him. At the mere cry, ** Tom the 
Hangman es cornin’ ! ” the children would flee as if for their 
lives, their faces white with terror, and their little hearts 
panting like the heart of a captured bird. Even older folks, 
young girls and young married women, occasionally were as 
much afraid of him, and experienced as much nervous horror 
at his presence, as if the taint of death clung to his fingers 
in reality. While for a bridal or a christening party to meet 
him on the way to church, was held to be about as unlucky 
a thing as could happen to it. 

Tom travelled up and down in the Land’s End parishes 
with his pedlar’s cart and his ragged pony — the latter, in 
aspect not unlike a moth-eaten door-mat — and wandering 
to and fro and hither and thither, he knew the winding 
lanes and byways of the peninsula, its lonely hamlets, and 
lonelier farmhouses among the hills, as thoroughly as an old, 
oft-hunted fox knows the crannies and hiding-places of the 
earns in its vicinity. 

He was well known, by sight, both to Joe and Drusilla; 
and that the queer little creature knew them equally well 
on his part, might be taken for granted, considering his sly, 
prying nature. This was the first time, however, that he had 
directly addressed either of them — at least, so far as their 
memories served them — and the uncanny greeting jarred 
unpleasantly upon both. 

Drusilla felt almost as if he had overlooked ” her.^ And 
something of the same vague impression seemed to be pro- 
duced on Joe. 

In Drusilla’s case, the feeling was deepened by her know- 
ledge that the sinister reference to robbing a corpse” was 
not altogether inapplicable to herself. Her thoughts fell 
into such confusion in consequence, that it took her several 
minutes to control them and to regain her composure. She 
gave a swift, furtive look at the parcels lying in her lap, and 
then glanced uneasily at Joe Rosevear, anxious to see if he 

1 Looked at her with “ the evil eye.” 

c 


34 


EZEKIELS SIN 


showed any sign, however slight, of having found in the 
pedlar’s words the same significance as she did : her guilty 
conscience hearing in them something of the knowledge 
of the diviner, or, as she would have put it in her local 
phrasing, the knowingness of a witch.” ^ But Joe looked 
merely a little shamefaced and uncomfortable ; as if aware 
that he had shown less wit and presence of mind than 
might have been expected from him in his position of 
escort and protector. 

Wish we hadn’ mit that ugly little varmunt ! ” grunted 
Joe. ^^Ugly as a capful of adders, I do call un.” 

So do I ! He gov’ me quite a shiver,” rejoined Drusilla. 
^^What possessed the little wretch to stayle up to us like 
that ” And then she added, He’s as deep as the Bay of 
Biscay, they do say.” 

Ugh ! I’d like to pull his ears as long as a beagle’s for’n ! 
the darned little bucca-davy ! ” 2 grumbled Joe. 

The encounter had the effect of entirely spoiling the 
conclusion of the drive. Joe’s sparkle of fun was quenched 
irretrievably : and Drusilla’s piquant attitude was equally 
put an end to. 

They drove the remainder of the distance in a state of 
suppressed discomfort, and finally parted near the mill (where 
Drusilla had to leave the waggon) with a feeling as if some 
one had given them a slap in the face. 


CHAPTER V 

AT THE EDGE OF FAIRYLAND 

While Drusilla, with the nubile unrest of six-and-twenty, 
was trying to shape her life into agreement with her mood 
(and, with this end in view, was willing to risk almost any- 
thing), Morvenna was accepting the vague emotions of her 

^ In Cornwall, “witch ” is both masculine and feminine. 

2 Bucca-davy : a term of contempt. It is really a vulgarisation of 
the old form of “bucca” (Irish “piica’’), a spirit. 


AT THE EDGE OF FAIRYLAND 


35 


springtide with the shy uncertainty and wonder of a nature 
still in the bud. 

As the soft May sunshine steeped the peninsula in its 
warmth, the vegetation, which had been a little backward in 
April, had begun to sprout and swell greenly everywhere. 
In the long, sheltered trough of Polurrian valley, which 
extended for nearly a mile between the bleak and stony 
hills, the advance of spring was especially noticeable. The 
saplings, the bushes, and the flags that clustered around 
the stream, formed an exquisite mass of greenery along the 
heart of the valley, and even the slopes of the hills, in 
spite of their granite boulders, and the exposed margin 
nearer the sea (with its drift of shingle and fretting sand) 
appeared to be softened in aspect, and to be subtly quick 
with life. 

Coming out of school this afternoon and finding the valley 
still full of the soft, warm sunlight, with the cuckoos calling 
across the stream and the rooks cawing around the school- 
house, Morvenna decided that, instead of going straight 
home, she would wander up the valley, to pick some prim- 
roses and cuckoos” — the latter, in West Cornwall, being 
the name of the blue hyacinth. 

Tucking her school-books under her arm she strolled slowly 
up the glen, searching the nooks for primroses and violets, 
and occasionally finding a cluster of lilies of the valley, and 
here and there, near the runlets, a few early forget-me-nots. 
Below her, where the stream brawled noisily among the 
boulders — the banks on either side of it being three or four 
feet high — she could see clumps of yellow water-flags and 
daintier narcissi, with occasional splashes of gold across the 
great tufts of broom. And everywhere around her the air 
was alive with music ; the call-notes of cuckoos, the whistling 
of blackbirds, the cawing of rooks, mingling with the rustling 
of the wind, the hoarse gurgle of the streamlet, and the 
humming, drowsy undertone of the bees. 

The shadow lying so heavily on the life of the cottage, 
insensibly seemed to melt away from her thoughts as she 
wandered here in the delicious sunshine, and a flood of 


S6 


EZEKIELS SIN 


vaguely sweet stirrings and promptings began to agitate her : 
the hopes, emotions, and day-dreams of a healthy country 
girl whose nature was awaking shyly in response to the 
stimulus of the season. 

That great primal impulse, so sweet and yet so terrible — 
so alluring in its promises and so compulsive in its fascina- 
tions — began to trouble Morvenna’s thoughts as it was 
troubling those of other girls. 

She was aware, deep in her nature, that she wanted some- 
thing — was it ... a sweetheart.^ — some one to love her in 
another way than that associated with her parents, and 
some one whom, on her part, she could love in another 
way, too. 

She trembled at — she was half afraid of — the disquieting 
suggestion. But it was delicious all the same, and, once 
stirred in her, came to stay. 

A thousand mysterious threads running through her con- 
sciousness began to flush and tingle with life as she listened 
to her hopes and trembled ; and, shivering delightedly, 
listened again, and fell a-dreaming at their hints. 

At last a sudden timidity seemed to tremble through 
her: a shyness, strange and inexplicable, that made her 
hot to the tips of her ears. 

She shook herself free from her thoughts (by an effort and 
somewhat reluctantly), and then, to quiet the importunate 
buzz of them, began to hum a rhyme she had been teaching 
her class of infants and sat down against a hedge to arrange 
her flowers. 

As she sat with her school-books in her lap and the flowers 
spread out on them, a youngster came along the road 
whistling gaily. 

On perceiving her, he abruptly stopped his whistling 
and began to fidget with his hands at his coat and 
waistcoat, his sunburned face awkwardly showing his em- 
barrassment. 

Morvenna, on her part, merely glanced up for a moment 
and went on sorting her flowers as before. 

Once or twice afterwards, as the youngster was ap- 


AT THE EDGE OF FAIRYLAND 


37 


preaching her slowly, she lifted her head and glanced at him 
idly, with the expression of one who merely recognises an 
acquaintance, though without a shadow of emotion or em- 
barrassment. 

Afternoon, Morvenna!” said the youngster, now close 
to her. 

Good afternoon, Dick ! ” replied Morvenna, smiling 
pleasantly. 

^^Thee got a grand lot o’ flowers there, Morvenna,” 
said Dick. 

Yes ; pretty fair. Would you like to have a few 

" Iss, plaise, thaank’ee ! ” quoth Dick, almost stammer- 
ingly. 

Morvenna put together a few of each kind and placed 
them in his hand. 

There you are, then ! Some of every sort for you.” 

"Thaank’ee, Morvenna!” said Dick, his hand trembling 
as it touched her fingers. And with that he stood stock- 
still in front of her ; staring at her with a face as red 
as a beetroot, his lips half open and his eyes troubled 
noticeably. 

Morvenna gathered up her flowers with a hasty move- 
ment ; tucked her school-books under her arm, and rose to 
her feet. 

" Good afternoon, Dick ! ” she remarked, turning her face 
homewards. 

" Plaise, Morvenna,” cried Dick, following her immediately, 
" Plaise, Morvenna . . .” 

She turned and fronted him : a glimmer of fright in her 
eyes. 

"Will’ee have me for a shiner,^ Morvenna,.^” he blurted 
out. 

"No, no, Dick ! you mustn’t think of it!” cried Morvenna 
quickly. 

" Why not ? I ben followin’ of ee up for more’n a year. 
Though I ha’n’t spok’ to’ee about it afore, it ben all’ys in 
me mind . . .” 


1 Sweetheart. 


38 


EZEKIELS SIN 


It’s no use, Dick ! You must ask some one else. It isn’t 
to be ! ” said Morvenna firmly. 

« Why.^” 

Oh . . . why ? Well . . . because I say so.” 

And Morvenna hurried off in the direction of the school- 
house. 

Dick followed her, still pleading. 

But I want’ee, Morvenna ! Do’ee say, Iss / Morvenna ! 
Do’ee ! ” 

^^No, no! Go away, Dick! I couldn’t think of it for a 
minute ! You’re only vexing me now.” 

And with that she took to her heels. 

I dedn’ mayne no harm ! ” Dick bawled after her help- 
lessly ; standing stock-still in the middle of the road. 

But Morvenna was by this time a score yards away, and 
kept on running without turning her head. 

Suddenly, in darting rapidly around a twist in the road- 
way, she ran full-tilt against the schoolmaster himself. 

Quite unable to arrest her movements in the instant of 
impact, she found her head against his waistcoat and his 
hands upon her shoulders almost before she realised what it 
meant and where she was. 

Oh — I beg your pardon ! ” and, Why, Morvenna ! what’s 
the matter ? ” were the joint exclamations as soon as they got 
their breath. 

Morvenna’s cheeks grew hot with blushes.as she murmured 
shamefacedly, ^^Dick Laity been teasing me — and I didn’t 
like it.” And then, for some reason or other, she added, 
dropping her eyes, ^^He wanted to be my shiner — and I 
didn’t want him — and I won’t have him.” 

The schoolmaster thought what a pretty picture she made 
as she stood there blushing, with her hand full of flowers, 
and, as if to accentuate the note of girlishness, with her 
school-books tucked away under her arm. 

Morvenna, lifting her eyes, saw him watching her in- 
tently, and blushed all the more hotly as she dropped her 
eyes again. 

I’m very sorry Dick Laity has been so foolish as to tease 


AT THE EDGE OF FAIRYLAND 


39 


you ; but you must forget all about it now/’ said the school- 
master soothingly. It won’t do to spoil such a beautiful 
day by crossness ; even if a youngster does make a fool of 
himself.” And then he added^ smiling pleasantly, as she 
was aware on glancing upward, I’ll see you home myself, 
if you still feel upset — shall I } ” 

Thank you, Mr. Richards,” said Morvenna shyly. 

So the schoolmaster turned round, by no means unwil- 
lingly, and fell into step with his girlish pupil-teacher. 
And down the winding lane they walked in the after- 
noon sunshine, a swarm of busy thoughts buzzing in either 
brain. 

Paul Richards, the schoolmaster, was a fair, slightly built 
man of thirty-one. He had soft brown hair and a thick and 
silky moustache (the latter of a hue like that of ripe corn- 
stalks) and grave, steady, light- blue eyes that were sym- 
pathetically observant rather than masterful : the eyes of a 
dreamer, with something of the feminine strain in him, 
rather than those of a man of action. His pleasant-featured 
countenance predisposed one to friendliness ; and the whole 
appearance of the man (his careful neatness of dress ; his 
grave, quiet courtesy ; and his dreamy and somewhat ab- 
stracted air) produced on most people an effect that was 
distinctly favourable. 

Many experiences lay at the back of his thoughts : some 
that possibly he might never mention, and others that he 
would draw on occasionally with picturesque effect. Indeed, 
in fifty different ways, it was very evident that his horizon 
was wider in every direction than that of his scholars and 
acquaintances in the cove. 

By birth, the schoolmaster was a native of Ludgvan : a 
small, straggling agricultural village about eight or nine 
miles from Polurrian cove, and, consequently, for the cove- 
folk almost in another world. He had lost both his parents 
— they died within a twelvemonth of each other — some six 
years previously, when he was barely five-and-twenty, and 
never having had either a brother or a sister, he counted 
himself now practically alone in the world. He lodged in a 


40 


EZEKIELS SIN 


small cottage kept by an elderly widow — it w^as almost 
midway between the schoolhouse and the row of crabbers’ 
cottages — and had been the schoolmaster in Polurrian cove 
for the last three years. Morvenna Trevaskis at first had 
been one of his scholars, but he had taken a liking to the 
girl owing to her sweetness of disposition, and her bright 
good-temper and alertness of intelligence, and presently, 
when her school-days were drawing to a close, he had 
suggested to her parents that she should remain as a paid 
monitor, and finally should be trained for a pupil-teacher. 
Malva at first had objected strongly to this, and Morvenna 
accordingly left school and remained at home for several 
months. In the end, however, Ezekiel, giving way to 
Morvenna’s coaxing — for the girl liked her master and was 
anxious to work under him — decided that, at any rate, she 
might make a start as a monitor. Accordingly, rather less 
than a couple of years ago, Morvenna had returned to the 
little schoolhouse and had stuck to it ever since : her liking 
for her master not diminishing in the interval, and the 
master’s liking for his little assistant decidedly not diminish- 
ing either. 

When the schoolmaster first became acquainted with Mor- 
venna she was a mere slip of a girl in a short frock, with a 
big straw hat and a white mocket-apron ” ; and with her 
hair flying wildly over her shoulders every day except 
Saturday, when it was usually done up in plaits in prepara- 
tion for the Sunday. As often as not, when the schoolmaster 
met her out of school, she w^as munching a piece of bread 
and butter, or nibbling a hunk of cake : and from the shower 
of crumbs that occasionally dropped about her in school, when 
she pulled out her handkerchief without due preparation, he 
surmised that her pocket as a rule was used as a kind of larder. 
This was when Morvenna was barely fourteen, and the school- 
master (as near as possible) was about eight-and-twenty. In 
those days Morvenna, on the least provocation, would show 
her white teeth merrily in a burst of laughter anywhere and 
everywhere, in school or out : and her tongue was almost as 
unembarrassed as her smile. The schoolmaster made a bit 


AT THE EDGE OF FAIRYLAND 


41 


of a pet of her from the first, and, though he often passed 
other children without noticing them, he never met Morvenna 
without greeting her pleasantly — enjoying the sunny piquancy 
of her smile with a frank relish that his seniority seemed to 
him to excuse. 

But three years had wrought a great change in their 
relations. 

Morvenna, at seventeen, felt too old to be petted familiarly ; 
and the schoolmaster, even with his one-and-thirty years, 
was no longer such a wide stretch ahead of her on the road 
of life that his voice was oracular and almost impersonal for 
her. Or, at any rate, if still oracular, it was not in the 
olden way. 

And the schoolmaster — well, Morvenna was no longer for 
him a little sister whom he could pet almost without any 
sense of responsibility. He felt his seniority to its full 
extent still : even more, perhaps, than Morvenna did at 
present. But what she w'as for him he scarcely knew : 
besides, what good would it do to define it } And what she 
might be to others — to the youngsters of the village, her 
contemporaries — he was not at all anxious to consider too 
closely. She was at present his pleasant little pupil-teacher 
— always with a smile ready for him still, if he cared to 
evoke it — and what more could he ask at his age, or . . . 
what more was he likely to get } 

When Morvenna had told him that Dick Laity wanted to 
be her sweetheart, he had felt a tug at his heart that quite 
surprised him ; followed by a dull, dreary ache which even 
her petulant avowal that “ she didn’t want Dick and wouldn’t 
have him ” was little calculated to allay permanently, although 
it might soothe him for the moment. For, in spite of Dick’s 
dismissal, a cheerless sense of fatalism — of the inevitableness 
of a loss, of a change, that he would feel keenly — still re- 
mained gloomily at the back of the schoolmaster’s thoughts. 
To Morvenna, with her youth, belonged the things of youth 
— the enchantment of young love, of young happiness, of 
sweet illusions ; the irrepressible lilt and buoyancy of life ; 
and all the exquisite freshness that comes of experiences still 


42 


EZEKIELS SIN 


to investigate and an outfit of expectancy as yet unwasted 
and unimpaired. This the schoolmaster recognised clearly, 
and would not willingly have gainsaid. But, all the same, 
the fact of her world being so young and jocund — so full of 
the singing of birds and of the glamour of the springtide — 
made him seem, in his own mind, entirely out of place in 
it; as much out of place as a tree laden with ripe berries 
would look in the midst of a hedge of flowering hawthorn. 
True, Morvenna in her waywardness, or in the unripeness 
of her emotions, had not let the first youngster seize her 
as his prize : but the schoolmaster was aware that this 
dismissal of one youngster must not be taken as implying 
that she was prepared to reject them all. Their youth 
was in their favour; and so, presumably, would be her 
heart. With the fatal current of nature, setting steadily 
and persistently against him, it would be absurd for him 
to fight, thought the schoolmaster with a sigh. And with 
this he set his face to accept the inevitable, and walked 
along by Morvenna’s side with as cheerful a mien as he 
could command. 

Meanwhile Morvenna kept strangely and perplexingly 
silent. Shy, agitated, and hot with blushes, she walked 
along with downcast eyes, her elbows almost touching his. 
Her sunny gaiety of manner had vanished unaccountably, 
and any one watching them, without a due knowledge of the 
situation, would have taken them for a pair of lovers who 
had quarrelled and were ill at ease. 

Presently, however, the schoolmaster tried to pull .himself 
together and talk to his companion with something of the 
ease of friendly cjiat. He began to praise the flowers she 
had gathered and asked where she had obtained them, re- 
marking that her forget-me-nots were the first he had seen 
that spring. 

Yes, they’re pretty; arn’t they?” responded Morvenna, 
glancing up shyly. 

Almost as pretty as my little pupil-teacher,” said he 
gallantly. 

Morvenna coloured rosily, and dropped her eyes. 


AT THE EDGE OF FAIRYLAND 


43 


Now you’re teasing me/’ she murmured. 

'^No, no. You’ve had enough teasing for one day. It 
was merely a thought I had. They seem to me just to 
match your eyes.” 

Morvenna looked up again : this time smilingly. Would 
you like some of them } ” she asked shyly. 

If it wouldn’t look out of place — an old man wearing 
them in his coat.” 

“You’re not so old as that, Mr. Richards!” began 
Morvenna, and then stopped, confused at her own im- 
petuosity, and began to fidget with the flowers, which she 
shifted uneasily in her fingers. 

“ As old as what } ” asked he smilingly, but with eyes 
watching her face intently. 

“ Oh . . . not too old to wear flowers,” murmured Mor- 
venna. 

^^Then, if you think so, Morvenna, we’ll let it be so,” 
said the schoolmaster: “and I’ll wear them with pleasure, 
if you’ll spare me two or three.” 

Morvenna picked out all the forget-me-nots she had and 
handed them to him with a kind of shamefaced air. Her 
eyes watching him warily, as if she were afraid he was 
making fun of her. 

“Oh no, I mustn’t rob you of all of them,” said he. 
“You must keep some for yourself.” 

“ I would rather you had them.” And her face flushed 
with a warm rosiness delightful to witness. 

“ But you will take some from me, won’t you } Then we 
shall both have a share of them.” 

“ Yes : if you want me to.” 

“ It would please me, if you would.” 

^^Yes . . . then I will,” replied Morvenna, almost in a 
whisper. 

On which the schoolmaster divided them fairly, and 
handed her back half of them. 

“Thank you, Mr. Richards,” said she, colouring under 
his glance. 

“ Thank you, Morvenna,” said the schoolmaster : and 


44 


EZEKIELS SIN 


he placed the flowers in his buttonhole. "Then you won’t 
w’ear yours, Morvenna ? You see, I’m wearing mine ! ” 

Morvenna blushingly placed the forget-me-nots in an 
opening of her bodice. 

" That’s right ! ” said the schoolmaster, nodding his head 
approvingly. And he glanced from her bodice to his button- 
hole with a pleased, appreciative air. "Now we look like 
two friends : as I hope we are — arn’t we } ” 

Yes,” whispered Morvenna, with her old, wary shyness. 

"Then I’m content — if you are.^” said the schoolmaster 
questioningly. 

"Yes,” murmured Morvenna; if possible, shyer than ever. 
That’s a good girl ! Now I’m satisfied ! ” said the 
schoolmaster. 

And with this, they smiled at each other, and walked on 
lightly, feeling that, in some way or other, the May sunshine 
had entered into them, and the Spring, with all its exquisite 
promises, was in their veins. 

Presently they emerged from the hedged-in cartway on 
to the open space near the mouth of the cove. This was 
a shelterless stretch of ground, several acres in extent, 
covered with coarse grass and coarser w’eeds, and inter- 
spersed everywhere with pebbles and drifted sand. Clumps 
of the glaucous-coloured sea-holly and patches of sea-spurge 
grew here and there among the sand and pebbles, while 
the brighter little sea-pinks (now in full flower) were 
scattered up and down by thousands among the coarse 
salty grass, and were almost as numerous as the daisies 
were in the fields farther inland. Midway through the 
patch of common (if such it could be called) ran the 
broad but shallow stream that drained the valley — in winter 
swelling almost into a mountain-torrent, but in summer 
scarcely deep enough to reach to the knee of a child. 
At one point the stream was crossed by granite stepping- 
stones — great brown boulders a foot and a half high — 
while at another point, farther up, there was a rickety 
wooden structure fashioned by the cove-folk out of drifted- 
in wreck-wood, and having on one side of it a broken oar 


AT THE EDGE OF FAIRYLAND 


45 


used as a hand-rail : the little structure being dignified by 
the name of “the bridge.” The row of crabbers’ cottages 
— they were five in all — stood on the opposite side of the 
cove, about a furlong from the end of the cartway : and 
Ezekiel’s little dwelling was the one nearest to the stream : 
the tiny window of Morvenna’s bedroom, in the end-wall of 
the cottage, looking directly towards the point where the 
cartway ended abruptly. 

The schoolmaster, glancing across at the row of thatched 
cottages, noticed the sun shining brightly on the diminutive 
squares of the window, and remarked casually to Morvenna, 
“ Looks as if you had a light in your bedroom — doesn’t it } ” 
“Yes: so it does!” replied Morvenna smilingly: thereby 
giving him the clue he had angled for. 

On which he added, shaking his head at her with pre- 
tended severity, “You see, if ever you’re a naughty girl 
and get reading in bed by candlelight, I may find it out, 
Morvenna. And then, won’t you get a scolding when you 
come to school in the morning ! ” 

“Yes, but first you would have to watch . . and then 
she stopped, and crimsoned hotly. 

“Oh, I see lots of things — wandering about in the cove 
of an evening. I have seen you occasionally, learning your 
lessons out on the sea-front.” 

“ I have seen you^ sometimes,” ventured Morvenna shyly. 

“ Yes, and I shall be down here often in the summer 
evenings. I find it much fresher than farther up the 
valley. Perhaps I shall see you out learning your lessons 
now and then.” 

There was something like a note of interrogation in his 
voice, and Morvenna glanced up at him with her face 
glowing softly ; a timid, girlish questioning in her eyes. 

“ You won’t keep indoors because of me, will you 
“No,” she answered shyly. 

“ Not however often I come } ” 

“No,” said Morvenna again. 

“ Is that a promise, Morvenna ? ” 

“Yes,” she almost whispered. 


46 


EZEKIELS SIN 


The schoolmaster held out his hand. 

Morvenna put her hand in his : and the schoolmaster 
grasped it warmly and held it lingeringly. 

^^Well, good afternoon, Morvenna, he remarked reluc- 
tantly, as Morvenna gently slid her hand out of his. And 
then he added, ^^What a pleasant little walk weVe had; 
haven’t we ” 

Yes, I’ve enjoyed it,” said Morvenna simply. 

So have I ! ” he replied emphatically. I wish we 
could have one like it every day after school. It would 
do us a world of good, after the noise and worry; 
wouldn’t it.^” 

Yes . . . I think so . . . perhaps.” 

Then shall we have one to-morrow } ” 

“ Oh . . . no. I’m afraid . . .” 

Why not } Wouldn’t you like it ? ” 

Yes . . . I should like it,” she replied shyly. 

Then say ^yes ’ — there’s a good girl ! ” said the school- 
master. 

"Yes,” answered Morvenna, after a little pause. 

The schoolmaster looked into her blue eyes earnestly : 
and was aware of new depths in them which he had still 
to fathom. He held out his hand again, and shook hers 
warmly. "You’re the best little girl in the world, I think, 
Morvenna ! ” 

" Good afternoon, Mr. Richards,” replied Morvenna 
timidly. And, slipping her hand out of his, she put her 
foot on the nearest stepping-stone and was on the other 
side of the stream in less than half a minute. 

" It’s too good to be true : I mustn’t deceive myself,” 
said the schoolmaster, as he turned slowly and retraced his 
steps up the valley. 

" Oh ! it’s too good to be true ! I’m sure it is ! ” Morvenna 
panted softly, as she went up to the cottage door. 

And just then Ezekiel, gloomily rounding Cam Bargis, 
was muttering to himself, as he caught sight of his little 
cottage, "Ef I cud onnly wake up and find it all a 
draim ! ” 


SECRETS 


47 


CHAPTER VI 

SECRETS 

The purchases Drusilla had made were not flaunted before 
Ezekiel_, nor in any way deliberately brought under his 
notice ; rather, they were sedulously concealed from him by 
every means that was possible, Drusilla's contrivances to this 
end being aided by Malva with nervous watchfulness ; a 
watchfulness whose motive Morvenna thoroughly compre- 
hended, though, for her part, she declined to assist in any of 
their stratagems. 

^Ah, me cheeld,” said Malva the next morning to Drusilla, 
eyeing the finery moodily as it lay spread out on the kitchen 
table, when all’s said an’ done, they’re dear, terrible dear ! 
They arn’t wuth a hundredth part what they cost — they 
things ! ” 

I’m sure, mother, I got them as raisonable ...” 

Thee got them!” cried Malva. ^^No, no, me cheeld I 
thee ha’ n’t paid the price for them yet, by a long way. 
Thee’lt pay for them in more than money. I’m thinkin’, me 
cheeld : ayven ef thee paid the money twice ovver — every 
shillin’ of it. They’ve cost thy poor faather his paice o’ mind 
in this world ; an’ what they’ll cost un in the next, the dear 
Lord alone do knaw ! ” And at this Malva turned her eyes 
from the finery on the table to peer out through the panes 
at the wide stretch of sea, scanning the lonely wastes with a 
pathetic wistfulness. The sea had robbed her of her sons, 
and now, in his turn, her husband . . . Malva shivered drearily 
at her thoughts : her eyes troubled strangely. What if, one 
day, it also should rob her of him ! 

Here ! clear away they things ! I hate the sight o’ them, 

I tell’ee 1 ” she cried suddenly, with something almost like 
fierceness. “ Clear them out o’ me sight, will’ee ! I’d as 
soon see death-linen lyin’ there.” And she turned her back 
on the things and went to stand on the doorstep. 


48 


EZEKIELS SIN 


"Now you're talkin’ silly, mother,” said Drusilla discon- 
tentedly. But she gathered up the things and removed 
them to her bedroom, where she spent the remainder of the 
morning planning (with many changes of mind) how she 
would have them made up and who should do the work. 

By the time Morvenna came home to dinner, Drusilla had 
arranged everything satisfactorily in her thoughts. And 
when Morvenna set off for school in the afternoon, Drusilla 
walked with her up the valley, her arms full of packages, 
being bound for Newlyn, to visit a dressmaker there and get 
her outfit put in hand. 

Just ahead of them in the lane they presently discerned 
the schoolmaster, who was finishing his after-dinner pipe 
before going into school. 

As soon as she perceived him, a light leaped into Morvenna’s 
eyes and a sudden colour suffused her cheeks, till she looked 
(even to Drusilla) as pretty as a flower. 

" My ! so thee’ve picked out Mr. Richards for a shiner, 
have’ee ? ” quoth Drusilla, in a tone of mocking banter. 
"Well, thee waan’t be the first, not by a long chalk, Fm 
thinkin’. He ha’ n't reached his age, Fm sure, without having 
had a sweetheart. As likely as not,” she added maliciously, 
"he got wan now, somewhere out o’ sight.” 

"You are always talking about sweethearts; I wish you 
wouldn’t ! ” protested Morvenna, looking distressed and un- 
comfortable. 

"And thee’rt always thinkin’ about them, Fll go bail,” 
retorted Drusilla, with a touch of temper. " The slyer the 
cat, the more cream she do git.” 

" Don’t, Drusilla ! He might hear you : and what would 
he think of us ! ” 

" Don’t keer ef he do, for my part : he’s nawthin’ to me. 
He’ve heard wuss than that, I ’spect. And said wuss, too, 
in his day ; trust un.” 

"Well, I care, if you don’t.” 

And Morvenna drew away from her, and slackened her 
pace to drop behind. 

"Iss, no doubt. Fm spoilin’ the cream for’ee, thee do 


SECRETS 


49 


think. But there ! come on : don’t make a little fool of 
theeself. Thee may be in love with un so much as thee 
like : it waan’t harm’ee, that I do knaw of. But thee’ll 
never git un in this world : thee may make up thy mind 
to that.” 

Morvenna’s eyes had in them something of the discomfort 
of a child who has suffered an unexpected blow, or an inex- 
plicable rebuff. The troubling of the waters by Love had 
already begun in her : whether it would be for her happiness, 
was something that still remained to be seen. 

She glanced sideways at her sister, but made no remark. 
And the twain walked on in silence until they overtook the 
schoolmaster, who was loitering to get the last few whiffs 
from his pipe. 

The schoolmaster’s greeting of Morvenna, Drusilla watched 
with close attention ; making the girl more hot and confused 
than ever, and causing the schoolmaster also just a ripple of 
surprise. He wondered if Morvenna had been making a 
confidante of her sister : wondered with just a little shrinking- 
into-his-shell of suspicion. 

But a second glance at Morvenna in her girlish embar- 
rassment — vexed, or confused, by the combined scrutiny 
of her sister and himself — swept the shadow from his 
thoughts, and he felt ashamed of himself for harbouring it. 
She was as fresh and sweet as the hawthorn blossoms ; and, 
if he doubted it, he deserved to be tarred and feathered for 
a scarecrow. 

^^And are you coming in to assist us this afternoon ” he 
asked Drusilla, as they came to the door of the schoolhouse. 
“ As a great favour, we might let you take Morvenna’s class 
for once. It would lighten the day’s work for both of us, 
wouldn’t it.^” he asked, glad of the opportunity to look 
direct into Morvenna’s eyes. And he added, smiling into 
them, And we need it ; don’t we, Morvenna ” 

‘‘ I don’t know, Mr. Richards,” replied Morvenna, smiling 
confusedly. 

Not to-day ! thank you,” Drusilla answered lightly. Let 
every cobbler hold his awn lapstone, is my motto.” And 

D 


50 EZEKIELS SIN 

she gave a sly, malicious glance at her sister's crimsoning 
cheeks. 

And a very good motto, too ! " the schoolmaster replied, 
as he threw open the door and followed Morvenna into the 
school. 

Drusilla, as she left the little schoolhouse behind her, and 
walked briskly up the valley in tlie warm sunshine, began to 
pass in review, according to her mental capacity, the tangled 
incidents and moods of the last few days : and she decided 
promptly that she would be best off out of the coil. The 
hints of possible sweethearting between her sister and the 
schoolmaster; her mother’s strange fear of the money that 
had fallen to them — a blind terror whose insistent utterance 
and uncanny character had begun almost to affect Drusilla 
herself ; and the heavy, wearying gloom that clung to her 
father so depressingly (making the house, when he was in it, 
seem as if it held a corpse) : none of these was productive of 
so much pleasure in the retrospect that Drusilla felt unwilling 
to turn her back on them, if possible. 

If Joe would only give her the chance, or if, by adroit 
management, she could bring him to the point to-morrow, 
she would marry him out of hand, and take the risk gladly ! 

To be a wife ! ... Her blood rioted in her veins at the 
suggestion ; and the memory of scores of kisses (some from 
this youngster, and some from that, the sweetest of all, in 
her memory, being those from Robert Pengelly) did little to 
allay the heat and the restless sting of it. She would be a 
wife to-night, if it were possible, without a shadow of hesita- 
tion : the mans personality being a mere matter of detail, 
which Fate could settle for her by any blind shuffle of its 
own. 

True, like other young women, she would have preferred 
to fall in love " with the man who was to be her husband : 
be attracted to him by the subtle fascination of passion, and, 
in gaining him as her life-mate, gather up into this all 
imaginable satisfactions. It was certainly by no means her 
wish to miss the romance and fun of love-making, and from 
the mere experiences of the daughter, drowsing sluggishly 


SECRETS 


51 


at her mother’s fireside, plunge straight, and all in an instants 
into the experiences of the wife. Still, if happiness in its 
many-sided totality were to be denied to her, she would 
certainly not refuse so much of it as she could get. She 
desired a husband above all things ; it was her master-ambi- 
tion. If he had blossomed out of the sweetheart — out of 
Robert Pengelly, for instance . . . But — as this was not to 
be — she would give herself to him all the same. As others 
had done before her, she would trust to chance to redress the 
balance when she had a baby at her breast as the fulfilment 
of her nature, and was free of all the mysteries and free- 
masonry of the world of wives. No doubt, these would 
satisfy her amply. She was willing, at any rate, to take 
the risk. 

With that, she fell to thinking irritatedly of Joe, whose 
plaguy shilly-shallying unsettled her in this way. Why didn’t 
he come forward and propose to her like a man ? He needn’t 
be afraid of her, if that were the difficulty. He might very 
well guess that he could have her for the asking. Perhaps, 
in fact, it was this that made him so indifferent. Thinking 
that he had only to lift his finger and she would come running 
to him, he felt that he could dawdle just us much as he 
pleased : he could always lift his finger, when he felt so 
inclined. 

Bother the fellow, why should he tantalise her like this ! 
She wished she could afford to throw him over — or could 
quicken his jog-trot into a run. She wished his veins, for 
a man, had less ditchwater in them — bother him ! She 
wished ... oh ! anything ! so that this dawdling might come 
to an end ! 

If the schoolmaster, for instance, should think seriously of 
Morvenna, she would be bound he wouldn’t dawdle when he 
wanted to put the ring on her ! The little prim-looking 
chit, for all she seemed so shy, might get the laugh of her 
after all, and be a wife and mother before she was ! Oh, 
bother the fools of men ! why couldn’t they marry and have 
it over, while the fun was worth having ! If a woman had 
to do the asking — it would be something like a world, then / 


52 


EZEKIELS SIN 


While she was in this mood, she emerged from the lane 
into the highway, and, having a long jaunt in front of her 
before she reached Newly n, she hurried on briskly in the 
hot sunshine, her thoughts growing so vague, or slipping 
through her brain so indistinctly, that they made no more 
than a mere blur in the eye of her mind. 

Suddenly she heard the mocking sound of a fiddle, and, 
looking around in surprise, she perceived Tom the Hangman 
sitting on the gate of an adjoining farmyard, his fiddle at his 
ehin and his hand jigging the bow lovingly. 

An odd feeling that the musie had in it a note of cruelty, 
a kind of cold, sneering laughter as of one mocking at pain 
of some kind, crept stealthily through Drusilla’s nerves as 
soon as she caught the run of it. 

** Ben stickin’ a dear li’l pig, poor crayture ! A li"l fat 
white wan : f’r’all the world like a kickin’ baby. Doin’ this 
to cheer un up in his laast moments, poor li’l dear ! ” 

As the pedlar volunteered this information, Drusilla stared 
up at him with her eyes rounding in amazement. 

That to express pity for an animal struggling in its death- 
throes, is to lengthen out its agony instead of alleviating it, 
is a superstition firmly rooted in the peninsula. And Drusilla 
felt a sudden qualm of nausea attack her as she heard the 
shrill squealing of the pig in the adjoining farmyard while 
the pedlar kept emphasising his pity for his victim, with his 
bow jigging merrily up and down all the time. 

He seemed to her so maliciously evil in his cruelty, that 
it struck her all at once — the blood throbbing wildly in her 
veins at the suggestion — that here was a man almost as black- 
hearted as Old Nick himself! A witch, and no one knew 
what — and it was always the wicked ones who had power — 
was he worth resorting to in an emergency } she wondered, 
trembling at the idea. Was it worth going to him in a case, 
say . . . like that between herself and Joe } 

She had heard whispers of such things as charms to compel 
love, to produce maternity in a barren woman, to punish a 
faithless sweetheart, and such like : was there a charm to 
make a man marry a girl — willing, and he a laggard ? If 


SECRETS 


53 


so ... if there were . . . did Tom the Hangman know 
it? And, if he did . . . should she ask him to use it on 
her behalf? 

The temptation was so imperious, all her nature consenting 
and urging her to test its value (since the uncanny little 
creature looked so evilly capable), that in another second 
Drusilla M'ould have blurted out her question : it was even 
now on the tip of her tongue and in her consciousness was 
shaped already. 

But at that moment the pedlar, in his crafty, wheedling 
way, remarked, as he lowered his fiddle and fixed his beady 
eyes on her, "Ben a wreck in Polurrian cove, have 'a, me 
dear ? 

" Eh ? ** replied Drusilla, bewildered for an instant. 

"Faather come into a fortune, have ’a? Found a body 
from the Gannet, p’raps ? ” 

" Eh ? ” repeated Drusilla. And then, realising the ques- 
tion, she fell into a sudden confusion that made her lower 
her eyes affrightedly and colour hotly and furiously, as if 
she had been surprised in something criminal. 

" Lots o’ money on un, no doubt ? ” queried the pedlar, 
eyeing her closely. 

" You silly owld gawk ! You’re as wicked as you’re silly, 
b’leeve ! ” 

And Drusilla turned on her heel and walked away rapidly. 

"Arms full o’ passles,i an’ a heart full o’ saycrets — what 
’ud Joe Rosevear say, ef ’a shud overtake’ee now?” the 
pedlar called after her, watching her keenly. 

" I b’leeve he got daylins with Owld Nick hisself ! 
What a turn he gov’ me, to be sure ! Wish I’d put it 
off for a day or two!” were some of the agitated thoughts 
that ran rapidly through Drusilla’s mind, as she hurried 
along the highway with the pedlar calling after her. " But 
there ! he caan’t knaw nawthin’ ; how shud ’a ? ” she in- 
sisted, nervously trying to reassure herself. "’Tes onnly 
is evil gissin’. I was a fool to stop and stare at hun. 


^ Parcels 


54 


EZEKIEL'S SIN 


What a good job I dedn’ ask that what I mayned to ! I 
waan’t look at un agen — the ugly little toad ! ” And with 
this she hurried on so rapidly in the blazing sunshine that 
the perspiration trickled over her face like water. '^1 wouldn* 
for the world have father or mother knaw about it ! ” she 
mused anxiously : they would never forgive me, if I got 
them into trouble through he." And then, Bother that 
Joe! ’tes all his fau’t ! — But I’ll git un, if git un I can!^’ 
she decided, setting her lips determinedly. Lord, what 
worry 1 an’ all for a fool like he ! ’* 


CHAPTER VII 

THE CRABBER AND HIS WORLD 

When Ezekiel saw Drusilla, in all her finery, on the morning 
of ^^feasten Sunday,” he made no comment, but glanced wist- 
fully at Morvenna. 

The little one,” as he often called her, was dressed in her 
ordinary Sunday clothes which she had been wearing now 
for several months, and she had not a single new ribbon, or 
bit of fresh finery, anywhere on her person, so far as he 
could discover : and his eyes had travelled over her anxiously 
from her hat down to her shoes. Still Morvenna showed 
not the slightest sign of jealousy : though beside Drusilla, 
at present, she looked a girl beside a woman. There was 
a strange happiness in her eyes — a girlish sweetness and 
shyness, as of one in a delightful reverie — and her lips 
had the winsome curves of what one might call smiles in 
the bud. It was very evident to her father that she was 
troubled with no gloom at her lack of finery. Indeed, he 
fancied a new demureness, a new gaiety — something that 
eluded him — was every now and then discoverable in her 
face : not unlike the fleeting dazzle of sun-glints playing 
across the bay on a summer afternoon. He was glad at 
heart that it was there — this indefinable glint of happiness — 


THE CRABBER AND HIS WORLD 


55 


but he wondered a little^ all the same, what it meant and 
what had caused it. 

" Coin’ up weth thy sester } ” he asked her suddenly. 

" No, father ; I’m going to chapel as usualj” replied 
Morvenna. 

'^Goin’ up after denner.^” persisted Ezekiel, eyeing her 
closely. 

^^Yes, father; if you’ll let me,” said Morvenna, with an 
air of embarrassment. 

“ Why, o’ coorse, me dear ! o’ coorse ! Onnly too glad 
for’ee to enjoy thyself ! ” replied Ezekiel heartily, his eyes 
clearing perceptibly. 

“Yes, but, father,” and here Morvenna coloured and 
grew confused, “Mr. Richards, father, wants me to go up 
with him. He told me to ask you if I might . . . and 
he would take care of me ... if you’ll let me. He knows 
the schoolmaster at Choone, father; and he’s going to call 
at his house and have tea there ... if we go. That is . . . 
if you’ll let me go, father ... if you don’t mind.” 

“ Eh ? ” said her father. 

And “ Eh ? ” ejaculated her mother. 

“ Oh my ! Mr. Richards, Miss Prim ! ” cried Drusilla 
maliciously. 

Ezekiel and Malva glanced at each other ; while Morvenna 
stood beside the table with her face flushing rosily, as she 
fidgeted with her hymn-book, and studied the fingers of her 
glove. 

“Well,” said Ezekiel, after a pause, “ef he do call for 
her after denner, s’pose we can lev’ her go, mawther } ” 

Rests with thee, faather,” replied Malva, her eyes mutely 
consenting. 

“Well, lev’ it rest at that,” said Ezekiel, watching Mor- 
venna closely. 

Morvenna lifted her shining eyes. “ Thank you, father ! ” 
she replied brightly, her voice buoyant with happiness. 
And with that she wished them all “good morning,” and 
set off for chapel with something of the glad impatience 
of a child. 


56 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Wonder, now, es it merely friendliness, ’cause she do 
work onder un — or, es there anything else behind it ? ” 
queried Ezekiel, looking at Malva. 

Makin’ up to ayche awther, you bet ! ” cried Drusilla. 

Time’ll shaw ! time’ll shaw ! ” was Malva’s response. 

Anyhow, he’s a trustworthy man, es M ester Richards : he 
wedn’ hurt a heer of her head, I feel sartin.” 

I ha’n’t studied un much ; I must do so,” said Ezekiel. 
^^The little wan do sim to me alterin’ in some way.” 

They all do, when that do begin,” Malva replied 
sententiously. 

Ay, but this es a funny world ! — I must study un closer,” 
said Ezekiel, resuming the thread of his previous thought. 
“The little wan ... I thought she’d be free from this for 
years.” 

“ P’raps now ’tes onnly friendship : he bein’ her maaster.” 

“ Onnly friendship ! what fiddlesticks ! ” said Drusilla im- 
patiently, swinging her skirts in her hand and watching 
the fall of them. “’Tes courtin they’re thinkin’ of, the 
both of them : trust them for that ! ” 

“ Hush, faather ! ” said Malva gently ; having caught some 
muttered exclamation from her husband. 

“Ay, I’ll hush,” quoth Ezekiel gloomily. 

Drusilla would have liked to hang about the cottage in 
order to be present at the advent of Mr. Richards, and 
critically to watch Morvenna’s behaviour on the occasion : but 
she decided that her own “affair of the heart” urgently 
required that she should be present at the “parade” in 
Choone. Accordingly, shortly after Morvenna started for 
chapel, Drusilla set out to see the feasten-tide display. 

The greater part of the morning, while Malva was busy 
preparing the dinner, Ezekiel sat out on the sea-front on the 
ridge of shingle, his elbows on his knees and his head sup- 
ported between his hands, and in his mouth an ancient pipe 
that half the time was “out,” 

As he sat here in the hot and glittering sunshine, as un- 
raoving as a cormorant when it is sated, in fact, almost as 
motionless as a figure carved in stone, Ezekiel’s grey-blue 


THE CRABBER AND HIS WORLD 


57 


eyes were fixed sternly on the sea : fixed on it with a regard 
so grim and steadfast that it seemed as if the great purring 
monster (for the moment subdued into one of its stealthy 
feline moods) had fascinated him as a snake is said to 
fascinate a bird. Fascinated him with the fascination not of 
love or sympathy, but of horror, of something fatal, some- 
thing it would be useless for him to resist. The man looked 
like one who had had a revelation of something profoundly 
disquieting ; something whose memory (for his punishment) 
he was unable to shake himself free from : or . . . like one 
who had sinned deeply, and knew himself isolated, even 
as Cain. 

About half-a-dozen crabbers were scattered along the 
sea-front. A couple stretched at full length on a sandy 
grass-patch ; another lying on the crest of the ridge 
of pebbles, wdth the glassy, rippling, tremulous heat- 
glimmer wavering across his face till he looked almost 
like one drowmed ; and the others seated and leaning 
their backs against an upturned boat, in whose half-shadow 
they were smoking lazily and as lazily gossiping between 
the puffs. 

But none of them approached, or meddled with, Ezekiel, 
who, seated about a score or so yards from his cottage 
door, supported his head in his hands and gazed fixedly 
at the sea, as isolated, and with almost as deep a touch 
of aloofness, as the raven that sailed to and fro across 
the valley every now and then uttering its harsh, boding 
cawk ! 

Ezekiel had been by preference a solitary man (keeping 
rigidly to himself whether at w'ork or resting ashore) ever 
since the sea had robbed him of his sons. Before then, 
though somewhat taciturn, he had been reasonably sociable, 
after the grave, undemonstrative fashion of his class. But 
from the day when his sons were drowned Ezekiel had 
changed noticeably. The two lads (one was fifteen and the 
other in his seventeen) were working on a fishing-boat 
during the winter mackerel-season and had been drowned by 
the boat being run down off Scilly : the steamer that cut 


58 


EZEKIELS SIN 


them down skulking off in the darkness, leaving the crew of 
the fishing-boat to perish miserably. From that time — and 
this was half-a-dozen years ago — Ezekiel had settled into 
a man whose grim and moody loneliness (though at first 
sociably battled against by his friends and neighbours) had 
to be accepted as something inevitable and not to be changed. 
To-day his acquaintances in the cove would as soon have 
thought of shooting ” their pilchard nets in the middle of 
May or laying down ” their crab-pots a week before Christ- 
mas, as of trying to break through the reserve of Ezekiel 
Trevaskis, or expecting him to gossip with them hands-in- 
pockets and pipe-in-mouth. 

The mind of man is always tragically lonely. Separated 
from its fellows by the fact of its individuality, it is baffled 
and hedged-in in every direction by imprisoning obstacles 
that accentuate its solitariness. Never certain as to the 
actual thoughts of its fellows ; never able adequately to 
express its own : or, from a complexity of reasons, re- 
strained from expressing fully its own tangled and obscure 
ideas — ideas which, to utter, it must (as it were) cut the 
umbilical cord of, thus separating them from the life that 
alone justifies and explains them — how, thus baffled and 
confused, should it be otherwise than lonely } At his best, a 
man can but indicate, as in a series of hieroglyphics, some- 
thing vaguely like the stirrings and promptings he is aware 
of : and the knowledge of his incompetency — of the tragic 
inadequacy of his efforts — intensifies his sense of forlorn 
isolation till, in the end, he seems to move through a world 
of mere phantoms : the only realities being himself, and that 
which makes alive and kills. To the educated man, to brood 
over this phase of life’s perplexities often means madness, 
if he pursue the theme morbidly. But in the uneducated 
peasant it induces a great and profound sadness, something 
that enfeebles him with as deep a melancholy as if he were 
robbed of a sense. 

When to this initial gloom is added the shadow of tragic 
misfortune, even, perhaps, the sinister shadow of sin, then 
is the flavour of life spoiled for the man completely and 


THE CRABBER AND HIS WORLD 59 

irremediably, and, in the end, he becomes as moody and 
morose as one distraught. 

In Ezekiel Trevaskis — melancholy by racial blood-gift, 
and by his occupation forced into exceptional solitariness — 
the gloom engendered by baffled sympathies and inadequate 
expression had become morbidly accentuated : at first, by 
the loss of his sons ; and afterwards, by the sin into which 
he had plunged blindly ; and the man now was as grimly 
moody as he could be and keep sane. 

As he sat here on the sea-front this morning, supporting 
his head in his hands, Ezekiel’s face wore an expression so 
depressingly hopeless that, if Malva could have seen (side 
by side) his face as she remembered it as a wooer and his 
face now as a husband, her heart would have ached at the 
contrast almost to the pitch of tears. 

But Malva was busy with her cooking, and Drusilla with 
her courting, and Morvenna was busy watching the school- 
master and building castles in the air, and Ezekiel, who 
had thought and toiled so anxiously for all of them, was 
left to " dree his weird ” forlornly : his body as lonely as his 
mind. 

At dinner, Morvenna could scarcely eat, owing to sup- 
pressed excitement : but she concealed her agitation as much 
as possible, and tried to believe that neither her father nor 
her mother noticed it. 

As a matter of fact, however, there was not a phase of her 
unrest that escaped their observation. The hot colour in her 
cheeks, the smiles that wavered around her lips, even the 
unusual brilliancy and dilation of her eyes, were all noted in 
spite of her half-shamed concealment of them. Indeed, the 
delight and the secret eagerness that fluttered her, were as 
patent as the sunshine that played on the window-panes, 
or the murmur of the sea that came floating through the 
door. 

Happily, Drusilla was staying to dinner at an acquaint- 
ance’s in Choone: so Morvenna was spared the malicious 
teasing to which she would have been subjected by her 
sister, and was neither vexed by fretting speech nor by 


60 


EZEKIELS SIN 


irritating scrutiny. In as far as it was more than one of 
quiet observation, her mother’s attitude towards her was 
smilingly sympathetic : her father’s grave in its wistfulness, 
but certainly not unkind. Indeed, the significant tender- 
ness she now and then surprised in her mother’s eyes, made 
Morvenna’s heart glow warmly with affection. Though she 
blushed a little with ashamed delight at it, she rejoiced in it 
none thfe less. 

Presently came the schoolmaster, quiet and courteous as 
ever. 

On entering the cottage, not for the first time, certainly, 
but for the first time with such keen alertness of thought 
and with such a vaguely new attitude towards Malva and 
Ezekiel — his attitude towards Morvenna being in an alto- 
gether different category — the schoolmaster (without appear- 
ing to do so) studied the poor, plain interior and the ageing 
couple who called it ^Oiome,” with a peculiarly vivid interest 
and notation, though he would have found a difficulty in 
putting his motive bluntly into words. 

Malva seemed to him a good, motherly soul : a pea- 
sant housewife with the saving virtues of her class, and 
perhaps with but few (and those the most pardonable) of 
its faults. He imagined that, in all probability, she was 
thrifty, hard-working, affectionate, narrow-minded, scrupu- 
lously clean in her person as well as in her house, 
suspicious (with the peasant’s suspicion) and proud (also 
with the peasant’s pride). And he decided that, as a 
mother for Morvenna — the shaping feminine force the 
girl inevitably would be moulded by — Malva, no doubt, 
was as harmless as could be expected under the circum- 
stances. 

But Ezekiel’s was a problem he could not so easily 
grapple with. There was something latent in the man’s 
face — something buried in its wrinkles, something concealed 
in the depths of his eyes — that the schoolmaster could by 
no means get on the track of: at least, in a casual interview 
like the present one. There was either a great secret, or 
a great sorrow, hidden somewhere in the man’s life : and 


THE CRABBER AND HIS WORLD 6l 

which it was^ or whether it were both, the schoolmaster 
was unable to decide. 

When the schoolmaster had left the cottage with Mor- 
venna entrusted to his care — on the understanding that he 
would bring her back before sunset, without fail — Malva 
(who was washing up the dishes) remarked cautiously to 
Ezekiel, ^^Well, faather, what’ee think of it?” 

^^Dunnaw, I’m sure; dunnaw what to say,” replied 
Ezekiel ruminantly ; pacing heavily up and down the clean- 
sanded kitchen, and occasionally, with an air of perplexity, 
running his fingers slowly through his thick grey beard. 

Anyhow, I raather like the looks an’ the ways of un. He 
do sim to me a honest, trustworthy sort o’ man.” 

Iss ; he’s all that, b’leeve,” rejoined Malva. 

" He’s a bit quiet, esn’a ? But he’s owld enough to knaw 
his own mind, anyhow.” 

Quoth Malva, watching her husband out of the corners 
of her eyes, It do look as ef he got a mind to Morvenna, 
don’t it ? ” 

Time’ll shaw . . . time’ll shaw. She’s onnly a cheeld 
yet, come to that,” replied Ezekiel. Ef the thought esn’ 
theer, I wedn’ put it in her head.” 

^^’Tes theer right ’nuff! no doubt ’bout that,” rejoined 
Malva, nodding at him emphatically. " Ef he have — 
what’ee say ? He’s all right, ef they do ’gree on it together : 
dont’ee think so ? ” 

'^’Tes no use hopin’ nor plannin’ nawthin’,” remarked 
Ezekiel, twisting his beard in his fingers. 

^^Well, but wan caan’t help their thoughts,” retorted 
Malva. 

" No : wish they cud ! . . . But theer ! what es to be, 
will be, s’pose ! ” 

And Ezekiel paced up and down and to and fro in the little 
kitchen, perplexedly twisting and untwisting his beard, and 
occasionally emitting a long breath that was suspiciously 
like a sigh. 

^'Come, faather! Now, faather!” remonstrated Malva 
gently. 


62 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Iss, I knaw. I’ll go out *pon bayche for a pipe, b’leeve, 
mawther.” 

And reaching down his hat from the peg behind the door, 
Ezekiel wandered out again to the sea-front : like a sick 
animal, desiring now always to be alone. 


CHAPTER VIII 
A COUNTRY WOOING 

The show of new finery in the parish on this particular 
^^feasten Sunday,” was pronounced by competent observers 
to be one of the grandest ” of recent years. 

The farmers’ daughters, as a whole, perhaps carried oflP 
the prize ; at least for colour and richness of material. But 
it was generally admitted that among the daughters of the 
peasants and coast-folk there was not one whose outfit, for 
showiness and emphasised expensivenesss, could compare 
with that of Drusilla Trevaskis. 

Great indeed was the envy of the girls of her acquaintance 
as Drusilla strolled to and fro in her gorgeous finery, with 
Joe Rosevear not merely walking at her side, but actually 
(significant action) ^^arm in crook” with her! 

Joe had not intended publicly to have committed himself 
to this extent — though he might have done it after sundown 
in the quiet of the lanes. But Drusilla’s finery was so irre- 
sistible in its showy superiority that his vanity was flattered 
to an extent that made him just a little rash. 

The air was full of sweethearting : of girls parading before 
the youngsters with provocative glances and shining eyes, 
and of youngsters as tinglingly full of life as these. Every- 
where there was the restlessness of pursuit, of acquisition, 
and of the hundred other phases and lights and shades of 
pairing- time. And in the excitement of having acquired 
the pick of the girls ” for his shiner, Joe had forgotten his 
usual caution, and actually had offered her his arm 1 


A COUNTRY WOOING 


63 


Brasilia, of course, had jumped at’^ the offer in an 
instant : it was something beyond her expectations, though 
she frankly acknowledged that she deserved it. And during 
the remainder of the day she took every possible opportunity 
of making her proprietorship patent to the world : being 
determined that Joe should find it difficult to disavow it 
and discard her, if he should presently grow nervous and 
feel inclined to draw back. 

She found out, however, the truth of the old saying, that 
you may lead a horse to the water but you can’t make him 
drink. 

She had Joe to herself in the evening in the twilight of 
the lanes, and she let him kiss her to his heart’s content : 
but — make him propose ” to her she couldn’t. 

He was willing to act the lover to the full extent of his 
temperament — his range of love-talk being almost as narrow 
as that of a jackdaw — but he was as wary of approaching 
marriage as a rat of approaching a trap. 

In vain Brasilia threw out hints as open and seductive as 
she dared venture on ; even in the quiet of the lanes, with 
his arm around her and her lips free to him, Joe was able 
to elude the pitfalls and to hold himself unpledged. 

At last, in sheer desperation, as they were walking home- 
ward in the moonlight, Brasilia frankly put the question to 
him, Why not we two make a match ‘of it, same as awthers 
— what do’ee say, Joe } ” 

"Caan’t afford it — tha’s a fact!” replied Joe, cornered 
in spite of himself. ^^No good thinkin’ o’ things like 
that, with not a penny in me pocket.” And he repeated 
emphatically, looking her straight in the face as he said 
it, " I don’t arn enough for two : a wife’s a luxury I caan’t 
afford.” 

^^Ef tha’s the onnly thing tha’s stoppin’ee . . 

^^Esn’ it stop enough — that f’* 

Ef I got father to furnish for us, and give us a pound or 
two to start with } ” 

A pound or two ! what good wed that be ? ” said Joe. 

Well, furnish for us and give us, say, ten pounds to start 


64f 


EZEKIELS SIN 


with ? Would’ee do it then ? ” asked Drusilla^ bringing her 
face as close as she dared to his. 

^^Darn it ! iss^ I wed — there I” cried Joe, in desperation. 

^'Then we’ll do it^ Joe!” she cried eagerly^ tightening 
his arm within her own. 

What nonsense thee’rt talkin’ ! Do it — how ? ” de- 
manded Joe. " Thy faather cudn’ furnish for’ee an’ giv’ee 
ten pounds ovver : thee might as well ax un, right away, to 
give’ee a slice off the moon ! ” 

Iss he can ! Iss he can ! ” cried Drusilla excitedly. 
*^^¥00 don’t knaw everything, Joe — you dear old love! 
We’re better off than some of the folks do think us, I can 
tell’ee ! We arn’t quite so poor as we do seem,” she insisted 
mysteriously. 

^^Eh ? Faather got a bit o’ money by un, have ’a, you 
queried Joe, now alert and hungry for revelations. 

Iss : more than a bit. Else how did I git this rig-out ? 
It cost a putty penny, too ! ” 

'^Iss, so I shud say!” replied Joe emphatically. ^^Five 
pounds dedn’ pay for it } ” he queried, watching her intently. 

No ! five pounds dedn’ ! ” she repeated in triumph. 

"Well, I ha’n’t no objection: ef thee can manage it as 
thee say. Ef he’ll furnish, an’ give us ten pounds to start 
on — I’ll do it !” 

Thee waan’t go back on thy word, Joe } ” 

"No : ef thee keep to thine ! Furnish, an’ ten pounds to 
start weth — an’ I’ll marr-ry’ee when thee like ! ” 

Right you are ! Then tha’s settled ! I’ll arrange it weth 
father,” cried Drusilla eagerly. "I’ll see’ee tormorra, Joe, 
an’ tell’ee what he do say.” 

" I’d raather see un meself,” replied Joe suspiciously. 

"I’ll see un first. Thee shall see un afterwards — or see 
mother, ’tes all the same.” 

"Well, we’ll layve it at that, for the present,” answered 
Joe. " But mind ! ’tesn no promise, ef he do back-out on 
his part ! ” 

"Of course: I understand. But that’ll be all right. He 
waan’t back-out, I’m sure.” 


A COUNTRY WOOING 65 

shall see/’ replied Joe, with a notable lack of en- 
thusiasm. 

And Drusilla added, nestling up to him, Iss, thee’ll see ! ” 

. . . While Drusilla was engaged, with absorbing intent- 
ness, in tracking Joe’s heart to its final lair in his pocket, 
she was being much discussed among her female acquaint- 
ances. But more because she had suddenly blossomed out 
into such finery than because she had captured '^Li’l Joe 
Murfles,” ^ as her shiner was disparagingly nicknamed by the 
youngsters. 

Where the money had come from for her finery, was the 
puzzle to most of the gossips : and it was this phase of the 
women’s chatter that presently caught the attention of Tom 
the Hangman, who always made it a rule to keep his ears 
wide open when he was anywhere in the neighbourhood of a 
group of gossiping females. 

" Her faather’s a crabber, esn’a, down to Polurrian cove } 
P’raps he’ve had a’ extra good sayson } ” suggested Tom 
inquiringly. 

Not better than awthers : an’ not so good as some. Isaac 
Roscorla have done a bra’ bit better than he have. An’ 
Isaac cudn* give Keziah such a rig-out to save his life.” 

How do’ee knaw that ? ” queried Tom insinuatingly. 

" ’Cause Keziah, his wife, do happen to be my sester ! ” 
replied the woman aggressively, turning her big red face 
now full towards the pedlar. 

^^No offence! no offence! warn’t aware you was sesters. 
P’raps Ezekiel have failed in weth a bit o’ somethin’ good 
at say } The Gannet, now ...” 

But the woman had again turned her back ; and the 
group began to drift away from him, moving slowly along 
the road. 

The awkward little creature sidled quietly after them : 
like a lumbering crab creeping towards a drowned body 
stealthily — ready to stop and reconnoitre at the slightest ob- 
stacle, but, all the same, stubbornly determined to advance. 


^ Little Joe freckles. 


66 


EZEKIELS SIN 


CHAPTER IX 

SUNSHINE AND GOSSAMER 

When Morvenna came down the valley with the school 
master at sunset, she seemed to bring back to the little 
group of crabbers’ cottages something of the charm of youth 
and the trembling dazzle of its hopes — echoes of romance, 
a touch of glamour, the wonder and magic of the dawn. 
Her slim, girlishly pretty figure and her face rosy with 
happy blushes, seemed in harmony with the jubilant rap- 
ture of the skylarks, that were still singing high above 
the great stony hills, and made even the plaining moan 
of the tide on the sea-front lose something of its note of 
dreary hopelessness. 

The three or four ageing women, standing at their cottage 
doors, who chanced to see her with her face smiling up at 
the schoolmaster, seemed suddenly to remember their own 
vanished girlhood and the hopes and promises that made 
it so wonderful and so foolishly happy, all in a breath. 
And, as they glanced significantly at one another, they 
were aware vaguely — for a fleeting moment — of a sudden 
sweetening of the springs within them, the springs of the 
secret inner life. 

Down here, at the edge of the ever-moaning sea, life 
had in it a note of mournfulness, even at the best of times, 
and the dwellers in the little cottages were by no means 
a mirthful folk. Farther up the valley, it is true, there 
was a sprinkling of young wives, who might be seen with 
tiny children clinging to their skirts, or with a round-eyed 
baby laughing and cooing in their arms ; their own faces 
being full of the content their time of life ministered to, 
and all of them (it was very evident) making the most of 
their opportunities. But here, at the mouth of the cove, 
where the only dwellings w^ere the five little cottages of 
the crabbers, the householders were all middle - aged or 


SUNSHINE AND GOSSAMER 


67 


elderly folk. There were no young children to play around 
the doors of the cottages, or to toddle beside the women 
and make the eyes of these brighten; nor a single young 
wife with the new expectancy in her face. Here was 
simply the greyness of defeat, or of a life monotonously 
unhoping ; a quiet that, unhappily, was not born of victory, 
and a quiescence that (as certainly) was not that of mere 
content. 

Accordingly the advent of ^Hittle Morvenna” (she was 
by far the youngest girl in the group of cottages) bringing 
with her airs ” from the delightful world of sweethearting, 
was a frank pleasure to every one — except, perhaps, to the 
crabbers’ sons ; of whom one or two already had cast wistful 
eyes on her, though evidently without winning the recog- 
nition they desired. 

There would have been many jealous glances levelled at 
the schoolmaster if the young bachelors of the row had 
been in the cove this evening when he brought Morvenna 
home with her hands full of flowers. Owing, however, to 
it being ^^feasten Sunday,” the young men, at present, were 
all up at Choone, watching the girls and enjoying the show 
and the fun generally. 

So when the schoolmaster presently (after a few minutes’ 
chat with Malva and Ezekiel) left the crabber’s cottage and 
turned up the valley, there were no jealous young eyes to 
note how Morvenna kept peeping through her bedroom- 
window watching the tall, upright form of her companion as 
he skirted the little stream, crossed the stepping-stones 
lightly, and walked lingeringly towards the straggling hedge 
of thorn-bushes, behind which he would finally disappear 
from sight. 

Before, however, he passed behind the screen of blossom- 
ing hawthorn — of which a sprig was at this moment in 
Morvenna’s bodice, rising and falling with the rapid rise and 
fall of her bosom — the schoolmaster turned, and Morvenna 
saw him fix his eyes on her window. 

She drew back into the shadow of the room in an instant, 
though the attempt at hiding herself was unnecessary under 


68 


EZEKIELS SIN 


the circumstances^ as the schoolmaster (at that distance) 
would have been unable to discern her, even if her face had 
been pressed against the panes. 

He watched the window for a minute or two, and Mor- 
venna, in return, watched him "with all her eyes*' — her 
bosom throbbing tumultuously and her cheeks full of flaming 
colour — and then (and, she fancied, with lingering reluc- 
tance) he turned away slowly, and she lost sight of him 
behind the hedge. 

"Watchin un from the winda. I’ll be bound,” remarked 
Malva sympathetically. 

" Ay, maybe ; as like as not,” said Ezekiel. " Onnly 
hope the cheeld waan’t set her heart on un too strongly. 
I wedn’ have her hurt in mind, or disappointed, on no 
account.” 

" Nayther wed I, o’ coorse not ! what mawther wed 
She’s the li’l piggy- widden,i God bless her ! ” exclaimed 
Malva. And then she added, less emotionally, " But theer ! 
I faancy tha’s all right.” 

"Dunnaw ’bout that,” rejoined Ezekiel gloomily. "Life’s 
full o’ disappointments : nawthin’ else, sim to me.” 

" Hush ! theer she es cornin’ ! ” 

And with that the matter dropped. 

Later in the evening, long after the candle had been 
lighted, Drusilla came in, hot and excited. 

" Well, I got news for’ee at last ! ” she cried exultantly. 

" Axed’ee, have ’a.?” asked Malva. 

" Oh ! has he, Drusilla ? ” 

And Morvenna looked up from her reading with her eyes 
shining eagerly. 

"Iss ! tha’s ’bout the size of it, b’leeve ! ” replied Drusilla, 
throwing herself into a chair with the air of one taking her 
triumph coolly. 

" What did he say, Drusilla ? ” exclaimed Morvenna, with 
keen interest. 

"What did the schoolmaster say to thee in the lane this 

^ Li’l piggy-widden = little white pig : a term of endearment for the 
last-born in a family. 


SUNSHINE AND GOSSAMER 69 

evenin’ ? Was it ^Lovey-dovey, give me a kiss’ ? or, what 
was it ? ” 

For shame, Drusilla ! ” cried Morvenna, the prompt 
colour flooding her cheeks. 

" Well, don’t ask what awther folks say, when they’re 
courtin’ ! ” 

Le’ the cheeld alone ! ” cried Ezekiel sternly. 

How ded’ee manage to bring un to the point } ” queried 
Malva. 

Manage, indeed ! There was no management needed, 
that I knaw of. He was onnly too glad to git the chaance, 
b’leeve.” 

“Come ! that waan’t do, Drusilla !” remarked her mother. 
“ That esn’ like Joe. Thee knaw that as well as I do. Else 
why have ’a ben howldin’ off an’ plaguin’ee so long ? ” 

“ Shy — like the schoolmaster, s’pose,” retorted Drusilla 
Then, dropping her flippant tone, she added, with a touch 
of embarrassment, “There’s onnly wan hitch to our gittin’ 
marr-ried right off ... ” 

“ So theer es a hitch, then ? ” rejoined Malva, nodding her 
head. 

“Well ... a hitch after a fashion. But nawthin’ that 
caan’t be got ovver.” 

“Well, le’s hear what the hitch es,” said Malva. 

“Will’ee do me a good turn, Morvenna remarked 
Drusilla, suddenly turning and addressing her sister. 

“ If I can, Drusilla.” 

“Well, thee can, right ’nuff ; if thee got a mind to.” 

“What is it you want me to do .f*” questioned Morvenna. 

“Well, Joe ha’n’t got the money to furnish; tha’s the 
truth of it,” replied Drusilla, addressing the little group as 
a whole. “ He’s willin’ to be marr-ried next week, for the 
matter o’ that.” 

“ Oh ! he es, es’a ? ” remarked Malva, eyeing her closely. 

“If we can furnish between us,” continued Drusilla, “all 
will go swimmingly. I got thirteen pounds meself ... if 
Morvenna would give me her twenty . . . and father, say, 
add five or six pounds to it . . .” 


70 


EZEKIELS SIN 


I haven’t taken the money, as you know, Drusilla. And 
I’m not going to take it,” remarked Morvenna. ‘‘ If father 
is willing to give you the share he intended for me, I shan t 
raise any objections, that’s certain.” 

"Do’ee mind, father?” asked Drusilla, now addressing 
Ezekiel, who up to the present had remained seated in his 
chair in silence. 

" Ask thy mawther. Whatever she do say, I shall ’gree 
to. Wish the mone}- was at the bottom o’ the say, for my 
part ! As it esn’, I don’t keer what do become of it. But 
I don’t want to hear none o’ your plannin’ and plottin’. 
Settle it weth your mawther : Fm off for a pipe out ’pon 
bayche.” 

And with that Ezekiel rose and put on his hat, and, with- 
out another word, went out of the house. 

Accordingly, after a little further talk, the matter was 
settled on the lines Drusilla had indicated. 

The twenty pounds that would have been Morvenna’ s, 
and an additional five pounds out of the sum apportioned 
to Malva, were handed over to Drusilla, or, rather, Drusilla 
was allowed to take the money from the tea-caddy — Malva, 
like her husband and Morvenna, having a horror of even 
touching the coins — and, with the thirty-eight sovereigns 
thus securely in her possession, Drusilla felt that she had 
Joe, so to speak, in her hand. 

But when she began to discuss sundry matters her mind 
was brimming over with, Malva stopped her abruptly and 
with something like temper. " Plenty o’ time for that ! 
thee arn’t to be marr-ried to-night. It’ll ha’ to keep ’tell 
to-morra, anyhow,” she remarked, thrusting the subject 
aside. ^^’Tes ’most bed-time, now, b’leeve. Go an’ call in 
thy faather, Morvenna.” 

Morvenna slipped on her hat and ran out to the sea- 
front. 

Ezekiel was pacing up and down on the ridge of shingle 
in the moonlight, his head sunk on his breast and his hands 
deep in his trousers’ pockets : but of a pipe in his mouth 
there was no sign. 


LOVERS AND A LISTENER 


71 


" Come, father ! ’’ said Morvenna. Mother sent me to 
fetch you. You won’t be worried any more to-night, father : 
we’re all going to bed.” 

"Right, me dear,” replied Ezekiel. And he obediently 
followed her indoors. 


CHAPTER X 

LOVERS AND A LISTENER 

When Drusilla, the next day, gleefully informed Joe that 
everything was arranged, he remarked (somewhat suspiciously) 
that he had better go down with her to the cove and see 
her mother, so that there might be no mistake or hitch in 
the understanding. "Don’t want to be made a fool of,” he 
added ungraciously. 

Drusilla, however, had prepared herself for this emer- 
gency. In order to soothe her vanity, she had tried to 
win the game gracefully, without the humiliation of having 
to prove her words to her sweetheart. But if this were 
not to be — and she had half doubted it from the first — she 
was not going to be beaten for lack of having her proofs 
at hand. 

" I got the money in my pocket now : I brought it on 
purpose to shaw’ee,” she remarked, with a smile that evidently 
was somewhat forced. 

They were now traversing the ferny "bottom” (as it is 
called) that lies at the head of Polurrian valley — the cottage, 
where Joe lived with his married sister, standing at the 
edge of the "bottom,” not far from the highway. As there 
was no one in sight, and nothing visible among the furze- 
clumps or huge brakes of fern except a few cows and a 
sprinkling of sheep, Joe remarked, still suspiciously, "Well, 
le’s see the money, as thee got it weth’ee : may as well.” 

" Right : le’s sit down, and I’ll take it out and shaw’ee.” 

They accordingly seated themselves at the foot of an 


72 


EZEKIELS SIN 


ancient barrow, now luxuriantly overgrown with ferns,^ 
and Drusilla, making a table of her lap for the occasion, 
took out the sovereigns and spread them out for Joe to 
stare at. 

" Count them ! ” said he, eyeing the glittering display 
greedily. 

Drusilla obediently began to count them. 

Lifting each coin lingeringly, and telling the number of 
them with equal slowness, she made the tale of thirty-eight 
as impressive as she possibly could. 

Iss : they’re all right, b’leeve,” remarked Joe. 

All right ? O’ coorse they are ! Gowld every wan 
o’ them ! ” 

Drusilla excitedly flung the skirt of her dress over the 
coins to hide them, oblivious of the sudden display of her 
petticoats, and Joe jumped to his feet hastily, as if detected 
in a crime. 

It was the crafty little pedlar who had stolen on them 
unaware. Peering over the clump of ferns at Drusilla’s back, 
he had watched, from beginning to end, the display and 
counting of the coins, listening greedily for a possible ex- 
planation of their presence. 

" Quite a li’l fortune for a courtin’ couple, that ! ” cackled 
Tom, glancing warily from one to the other. 

We ben long enough savin’ it up, anyhow,” remarked 
Drusilla. Haven us, Joe Though thee put the best part, 
’tes true.” 

Thus appealed to and flattered on the susceptible side of 
his vanity, Joe’s eyes lost their glimmer of restless anxiety. 
Thrusting his hands in his trousers’ pockets and swelling 

^ The locality which I have here called Choone bottoms, is only a 
short distance from Bolleit (whose name is said to mean ‘ the Field of 
Blood’), where, in 936, Howel, the last king of Gornwall, was decisively 
defeated by Athelstan, the Saxon. Two huge monoliths of unhewn 
granite, a circle of standing stones, and several large tumuli (the latter, 
on my last visit to them, almost impenetrably overgrown with ferns 
and brambles) will be found in the neighbourhood of this ancient 
battlefield. 


LOVERS AND A LISTENER 


73 


out his waistcoat, he remarked carelessly, glancing at the 
pedlar the while, "Iss, it have took me time, but I don’t 
begrudge it. A man’s willin’ to do his best when he’s goin’ 
to be marr-ried — ef he’s a ma?i ! ” And with that he fronted 
the pedlar with a swaggering air that was almost grand. 

The pedlar mistrusted the words, somehow : but, all the 
same, he was taken aback. 

Come, Drusilla ' ” said Joe loftily, “ we don’t want no 
geekin’ boobas ^ followin’ us like adders ! An’, wha’s more 
— we waant have it ! ” And the little man tried to look as 
fierce as he could, though his eyes, all the time, belied the 
bravery of his words. 

^^Aw, iss, o’ coorse. No offence meant. I’m sure. An’ I 
hope none’s took,” remarked the pedlar, watching them both. 
“1 was passin’ by an’ heerd somewan countin’ out suvrins, 
an’ I just geeked ovver at’ee, cureyus like, you. No offence,” 
he added hesitatingly ; taken aback by the boldness of 
Drusilla’s unexpected move. What more likely than that the 
carter and Drusilla together had been saving up, secretly, for 
the marriage they were hungering after ? Though, even then, 
it was certainly a mint o’ money ” for a crabber’s daughter 
and a mere underpaid carter to be counting out privately here 
among the ferns. But there ! ... he began to scratch his 
head ruminantly ; still eyeing them with close and vigilant 
regard. Hope no offence ? ” he repeated again, warily. 

^‘^Go thy ways, w^ust ’a ! an’ we’ll go ours.” 

^‘^And the next time you come geekin’,” added Drusilla 
viciously, I hope somewan’ll give’ee somethin’ you waan’t 
forgit in a hurry, you ugly, troll-footed little toad, you ! ” 

Ay, me dear, a putty li’l fightin’-cock ^ou be ! Wish thy 
husband (that es to be) joy of ’ee. I’m sure ! Onnly hope 
he’ll git it — but I don’t think he will ! ” 

And with this parting shot, Tom the Hangman turned 
his back on them, and, sinking his head between his shoulders, 
hobbled away among the ferns. 

done un fust rate — dedn’ us?” cried Joe glee- 


1 Prying fools. 


74 


EZEKIELS SIN 


fully. “ Thee’rt a smart wan weth thy tongue, no mistake, 
Drusilla ! ’’ And then he added, watching her anxiously. 
We must stick to it now, ’bout it bein’ our savin’s — mine 
an’ yours.” 

^^Iss, o’ course we will,” replied Drusilla, complacently. 
The money will belong to both of us when we are marr-ried : 
and it waan’t matter a pin if ’tes all of it called thine. I 
don’t mind, for my part. It’ll all be joint and wan between 
us. When a woman do give her awn self to a man,” and 
she looked at him with a glittering eagerness in her eyes, 
'^she esn’ likely to mind givin’ him her pocket into the 
bargain.” 

Tha’s right, Drusilla ! ” cried Joe, with animation. Very 
good sense in that, me dear ! ” And, for the first time in 
their courtship, he kissed her hot cheeks and lips with 
something of the hungry mastery that Drusilla had always 
been eager to evoke. 

Drusilla paid him back his kisses with interest. This was 
a game she could play at till he was tired. 

We’ll be marr-ried as soon as thee like, me dear! caan’t 
be too soon for me 1 Shall us put-in the banns on Sunday } ” 
said Joe, at last on fire. 

Iss, I’m willin’, if thee want to.” 

^^Then, so it shall be!” said Joe. We’ll go up an’ see 
the passon together to-night, shall us } ” 

Iss, I’m willin’,” said Drusilla ; her cheeks full of splendid 
colour and her eyes glowing back at his. 

Tha’s settled, then ! ” cried Joe. And then he added. 
Darn it all ! why shudn’ us go up to wance, an’ git it ovver 
on the spot } Will’ee } Shall us, you } ” 

^^Iss,” replied Drusilla, with equal eagerness. 

So up to the parson’s they went together, arm-in-arm and 
all aglow. 


PREPARING FOR THE WEDDING 


75 


CHAPTER XI 

PEEPAEING FOR THE WEDDING 

For the next few weeks, Drusilla was as busy as she could 
well be. So full were her hands, in fact, that Malva and 
Morvenna were drawn also into the net of her activities, 
and had to assist, early and late, in cutting, sewing, choosing, 
planning, and generally preparing for the wedding and the 
new home that was in prospect. 

Joe had managed to secure a tiny four-roomed cottage 
standing at the edge of Choone bottoms — about a furlong, 
or so, distant from the dwelling of his married sister, and 
by so much nearer the mill where he worked. As soon 
as she began to get together the furniture, Drusilla was 
constantly to and fro between the bottoms and the cove, 
as Joe slept in the cottage to look after the things there, 
and she was thus able to place ” the furniture piece by 
piece as she purchased it. 

Drusilla’s bustling activity reacted so uncomfortably on 
the life and arrangements of the cottage — what with the 
meals disorganised by her jaunts here and there, the house 
littered in every direction by sewing-work and odds and 
ends, and lumbered up with new bedding, new pieces of 
furniture, new utensils — that Ezekiel kept out of it as much 
as he could. 

He loathed the sight of the things purchased with that 
hated money, and he felt bitterly, gallingly ashamed of 
himself sitting there like a thief among stolen goods ; with 
Morvenna’s pure young eyes on him, full of love, as he 
was aware, but full also of the pity that had only crept 
into them since she had judged him. 

He was deadly sick at heart at the business from begin- 
ning to end, and found the interior of the cottage at present 
as hateful to him as if the dead man (of whom he had 


76 


EZEKIELS SIN 


again begun to dream) sat there in the chimney-corner 
staring and grinning at him all the time. 

Happily, the warm, light evenings made it possible to 
remain out of doors almost up to bed -time, and Ezekiel 
with his pipe in his mouth — half the time unlighted — 
would pace to and fro, and to and fro again, with wearying 
monotony, till the other dwellers in the row almost began 
to be scared at him ; half thinking he must be haunted, or 
else must be going mad. 

Even when he was compelled to come indoors, according 
to Drusilla he was ^^as cross as a bear with a sore head,"’ he 
was '^as sour as a Whig,” ^^as black as the Turk,” ''as teasy 
as a gull : ” she seemed to find her store of complaints against 
him almost inexhaustible. 

Certainly, at present, he was by no means a pleasant 
companion for a young woman elatedly approaching her 
marriage, and feeling the blood in her veins a-bubble all 
the time. His moody silence, his gloom, the veiled some- 
thhig in his countenance, were all eminently unwelcome in 
the narrow interior where elbow constantly jogged against 
elbow, and eye looked into eye for lack of anywhere else 
to look. Abnormally full of vitality as Drusilla was at 
present, she found the repression of her father’s presence 
frankly unendurable, and she was only too glad to get him 
out of the way and pack him off to bed at the earliest 
moment he would go. 

It cut Morvenna to the heart to watch her father at 
this time : he looked so helpless in his depression, and so 
hopelessly dejected. But she was powerless to do any- 
thing to lessen his discomfort. She could only long, like 
himself, for the quiet days that were to come, when the 
bustle of the wedding (happily) would be over, and the 
things he hated (she was sure) because of their birth-cost, 
would no longer be flaunted before his eyes every moment 
he was in the house. 

To Drusilla, on the contrary, the weeks were the happiest 
she hitherto had known. She was delighted to be in the 
midst of such a clack of tongues and buzz of activity, and to 


PREPARING FOR THE WEDDING 


77 


be the theme of such vivacious gossip — the most exhilarat- 
ing she had ever tasted. Her pulse danced with animation 
all day long, and her brain was so alive with anticipation — 
so full of planning and choosing and bustle — that she could 
scarcely sleep at nights, and often when in bed kept Morvenna 
awake for hours. 

The gossip around her, as a whole, was remarkably friendly 
and good-humoured : a little sly at times, and occasionally 
spiced with jealousy — a spice whose flavour Drusilla found 
piquant and enjoyed hugely — and only at intervals a little 
spiteful, when she “ showed her teeth ” with fine effect : the 
blood, that fed her feminine passions so bountifully, here 
feeding her courage almost to the height of audacity. 

Nothing spoiled Drusilla’s delighted anticipation of her 
marriage. A husband she had long wanted, and a husband 
she was about to have. And she felt certain that any pos- 
sible wound to her vanity — and occasionally the gossips made 
her aware, with blunt directness, that she was not going 
to marry a paragon either of good looks or of generosity — 
would be far more than compensated for by the felicity that 
awaited her. 

Of the three ceremonies in which the community lays its 
hand on the individual — his christening, at the beginning of 
his life ; his marriage, at his maturity ; and, at the end, that 
abandonment and casting out called his burial — there is only 
one in which he is known to take a keen personal interest : 
an interest always alert to the point of curiosity ; occasionally, 
even acute to the pitch and gravity of passion. At his 
christening he is a mere symbol, a bundle of potencies — little 
more ; and though he be nominally the very heart and centre 
of the ceremony, he is lying still at the door of conscious- 
ness — neither asleep, nor fully awake. At his burial, he has 
nothing to rejoice at ; and if he mourn for it, who is there 
heeds ? But at his marriage the man is active, he is fully 
alive and can voice his wishes : he is here taking boldly that 
for which he has hungered, and of whose bestowal he is 
presumed to be reasonably glad. And this ceremony, for 
good or for evil, he will remember to the end of his days. 


78 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Naturally indifferent as to her christening, of which she 
had no memory ; and scared even to think of the tragedy 
of her burial ; Drusilla was determined to make her marriage 
worthy of the hopes that clustered around it. The longstone ^ 
that she would set up for remembrance on this occasion, 
should be one worthy of the ceremony, and a landmark for 
all her life. 

To this end, Drusilla spared no personal effort, and, as 
far as her means went, no possible expense. She rose early ; 
she went to bed late ; she was constantly running here and 
there, making purchases, completing arrangements, smooth- 
ing the path for her future generally ; in fact, her activi- 
ties were at their maximum and she was unweariedly full 
of life. 

Morvenna, of course, was to be her bride’s-maid, and 
Ezekiel was to give her away ; her mother would be there, 
and so would Mrs. Roscorla, and probably also Joe’s married 
sister — in fact, half Polurrian would be present at the 
ceremony. It would be her hour of triumph and utmost 
splendour : and she meant to enjoy it to the full. And in 
the excitement of preparing for this great day of days, 
Drusilla swept everything and every one remorselessly along 
with her ; as oblivious of their wishes, or the possible incon- 
venience to them, as if they were merely tools that she might 
take up, or cast down, without a thought. 

As a consequence, the schoolmaster (during these fussy, 
bustling weeks) saw little of Morvenna except during school- 
hours ; and found the sudden change by no means a pleasant 
one. 

He endeavoured, once or twice, to get her to take a 
walk with him, but on each occasion Drusilla had previously 
trapped her by a promise, and Morvenna, most reluctantly, 
was obliged to refuse him ; her eyes tremblingly full of 
regret, and her voice troubled quite as noticeably. 

Indeed I can’t help it, Mr. Richards ! ” she protested 
tremulously. I promised Drusilla ; and I don’t like to ask 

1 In Cornwall, the uninscribed monoliths found on the moors are 
generally called by the peasants “ longstones.” 


PREPARING FOR THE WEDDING 79 

her to let me off. They’re all so busy at home, just at 
present ! ” she added pleadingly. 

Well, it’s turning my hair grey ! missing my walk with 
you, like this. And I used to look forward to it so much ! ” 
remarked the schoolmaster, with plaintive playfulness. 

^^So did I!” answered Morvenna, her voice sinking 
sympathetically. 

Then why not come out this evening ? It will do you 
a world of good ! You look as though you want a long walk 
badly.” Which she did. 

Oh, I can’t ! I really can’t ! ” 

You’re a naughty little girl! I almost think I ought 
to be cross with you.” But on looking into Morvenna’s eyes, 
which he had evaded for a second or two, he perceived that 
they were genuinely distressed and full of troubled dis- 
appointment ; and he dropped his playful insistence with an 
abruptness that half startled her. No, no, Morvenna ! I 
didn’t mean it, I assure you ! I couldn’t be cross with you, 
if I tried. Forgive me, there’s a good girl ! ” 

“Yes . . . but, then . . . you said it as if you meant it 
really I ” protested Morvenna : a suspicious trembling in her 
voice, though her lips tried to smile. And, as she lifted her 
eyes to his, he was aware of a grieved trouble in them that 
he was frankly sorry to have evoked. 

“ I’m too selfish : that’s what’s the matter with me,” said 
the schoolmaster. 

“ Oh no ! indeed, you’re not, Mr. Richards ! ” 

“Yes, I am!” insisted the schoolmaster. “I ought to be 
caned like a troublesome boy.” 

The suggestion was so comical to her imagination, that 
Morvenna smiled irresistibly. 

“That’s right! I’m glad to see you laughing again, 
Morvenna. You have been so good to me that I owe you 
thanks instead of teasing you as I have done. And tease you 
again I won’t ! It was too bad of me : that’s a fact. When 
is this terrible wedding to be } Next Tuesday, isn’t it 

“Yes,” replied Morvenna. 

“Nearly six days more, then, before jou will be free 


80 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Well, I must wait as patiently as I can, I suppose. But, 
afterwards, you’ll be kinder to your old friend, won’t you ? 
You won’t neglect me as you have done ? ” 

^^No,” answered Morvenna. 

Good afternoon to’ee, sir ! ” It was Tom the Hangman 
limping past them, 

^^Good afternoon,” said the schoolmaster, returning the 
greeting indifferently. And he added to Morvenna, when 
the pedlar was well out of earshot, Who is that man ? I 
don’t like his look, somehow.” 

While Morvenna was explaining who he was, Tom the 
Hangman was limping down to the sea-front, where he 
presently espied Ezekiel tarring -his punt on the ridge of 
shingle. 

Good afternoon, Mester Trevaskis !” cried Tom. Thee’rt 
a lucky man — all’ys in luck’s way, simminly.” 

Afternoon, Tom,” replied Ezekiel, but without any par- 
ticular heartiness. 

^^Ay, thee’rt a lucky man, as I was sayin’,” repeated 
Tom. 

Lucky ? How so ” quoth Ezekiel gloomily. 

Well, what else do’ee call it, as the world do wag now- 
a-days ? Wan daughter goin’ to be marr-ried right off ; an’ 
the awther makin’ up to schoolmaster like a good wan.” 

Ezekiel looked up quickly, with a glance whose sudden 
wrath the pedlar visibly quailed at. 

Wipe thy dirty paws on thy awn coat, man ! Ef thee 
lay them on mine. I’ll tar an’ feather’ee from top to toe ! ” 

No offence ! no offence ! ’tes onnly my way,” remarked 
the pedlar, edging aside from Ezekiel. I’m a plain, blunt 
man : an’ plain an’ blunt es me way o’ spaikin’.” 

‘^"Well, keep thy ^ plain bluntness’ for awther folk’s affairs. 
Ef thee begin to meddle weth mine. I’ll ram this tar-brush 
down thy throt ! ” 

And Ezekiel gave the tar-brush a sudden dexterous twirl 
that sent its contents spattering in every direction; some 
falling so perilously close to Tom that the latter hobbled 
farther off as fast as his legs could cany him. 


81 


PREPARING FOR THE WEBBING 

But Tom persisted — now from a safe distance, however — 

I was only goin* to congratulate ’ee, Mester Trevaskis, 
on such a steady, savin* son-in-law as Joe. Thirty-eight 
pounds he an’ Drusilla have saved between them, so they 
towld me.” 

Ezekiel’s eyes sought Tom’s with the alarmed swiftness 
of fear ; the man’s whole face changing its hue and ex- 
pression. But as Ezekiel had lifted the tar-brush in raising 
his head, Tom’s eyes had leaped nervously to the brush to 
watch its movements, and in this moment of shifting interest 
the significance of the glance escaped him. 

When Tom’s eyes tried to meet and grapple with Ezekiel’s, 
they were aware of a peculiar expression melting out of the 
crabber’s face, but could get no closer than this to the breath 
of fear that had passed over it. 

Ezekiel had controlled himself by an effort that had 
blanched his lips under his moustache and had made his 
fingers tighten on the tar-brush with the clutch of one 
drowning : but, with the exception of these suppressed 
manifestations, he gave no other sign of the sudden terror 
that had stabbed him. And neither the hue of Ezekiel’s 
lips, nor the clutch of his fingers, came under the pedlar’s 
observation, prying though the latter was. 

Ezekiel dropped his head and resumed his tarring with- 
out taking any verbal notice of Tom’s remark ; though the 
latter had startled and alarmed him for a half-a-dozen 
different reasons. Drusilla’s lie, the strange idea that she 
should tell it to the pedlar, the thought that Tom was sus- 
piciously smelling round” the subject, Joe’s share in the 
lie and his reasons for sharing in it, the wonder as to how 
much Drusilla might have told her sweetheart and how far 
the news of the money might have travelled in consequence ; 
all these were questions that agitated Ezekiel to the roots 
of his nature ; unsettling him to the pitch of a disquiet that 
was almost torturing. 

But he remained silent : and went on with his tarring as 
before. 

The pedlar, however, was craftily persistent; following 

F 


82 


EZEKIELS SIN 


like a sleuth-hound, certain ideas of his own. ^^Done well 
for a mere carter, ha’n't ’a, you ? For, o’ coorse, the maid 
herself cudn’ ha’ saved up much.? j^he’d ben a crabber, 
now, I cud ha’ onderstood it.” He waited for a second or 
two : but Ezekiel went on with his tarring without remark. 

Crabbers, now, arn’t like men on a day- wage ; they can 
make money in more ways than wan, can crabbers.” 

What do thee knaw about crabbers .? ” quoth Ezekiel, 
without, however, turning his head. 

" I can see a bra’ bit from cleffs, ’pon times.” 

He paused again. 

But Ezekiel remained silent. 

"Crabbers do come across queer fish at times, by all 
accounts. Fishes with bilts on them, b’leeve : an’ such- 
like.” 

Ezekiel’s heart stood still. His extremities went cold : 
and he felt as if his limbs would give way under him. 
But the man’s dogged will was stronger than his nerves. 
Pressing the tar-brush against the punt, he leaned heavily 
on its handle, and, in this way, partially disguised and 
tided over the physical shock that had shaken the strength 
out of him. The mental smart had gone deeper — it was 
like that of a sword-thrust. But, as to this, he knew well 
that he could trust himself to hold his peace. Sud- 
denly, however, the supreme need of self-preservation 
flooded the channels of his nature like a rushing angry 
tide, sweeping all other thoughts before it like sea-wrack. 
With a quick lifting of the head, Ezekiel flung out the 
question : " Heerd of any such strange fish lately, have’ee .? 
Ef so . . .” 

" How about the bodies from the Gannet ? ” 

" Iss, how about them } ” Ezekiel’s voice deepened menac- 
ingly. "Do’ee mayne to accuse we men in this cove . . .” 
and he advanced towards the pedlar with the tar-brush lifted 
threateningly. 

" I see’d a man . . . see’d un weth me very awn eyes . . 

" See’d un what f What are’ee drivin’ at, man .? ” 

" I was up ’pon cleffs an’ I see’d un robbin’ a dead body.” 


PREPARING FOR THE WEDDING 


83 


Where?” 

‘‘ Out theer ! Out in the bay, o’ coorse ! ” 

Who was the man ? Tell me his name ! ” demanded 
Ezekiel. Ef he do live in this cove, as sure as I’m alife,” 
the crabber asseverated with strange solemnity, " I’ll see that 
he do go in to Penzaance clink ^ to-night : ayven ef all in 
the cove got to bind un hand an’ foot to car’ un there ! ” 
(In his heart, he said to himself with bitter determination — 
the deadly, almost brutal, desperation of despair — Ef he do 
say ’tes me. I’ll go an’ give meself up to wance. I caan’t 
live weth this hangin’ ovver me head.”) His name, man ! ” 
he demanded, with grim insistence. 

Who said he lived in this cove ? ” snarled the pedlar. 

His name, man ! His name ! ” Ezekiel thundered at 
him fiercely. 

Well, find it out for theeself — ef thee want to knaw it.” 

Ezekiel contemptuously turned his back on him. 

I tell’ee, I see’d un ! ” insisted the pedlar. 

Ezekiel resumed the interrupted tarring of the punt, 
without taking any further notice of the remark. 

" I see’d un, weth me very awn eyes, out theer ! ” 

If thee don’t git out o’ this putty sharp, we’ll tar 
an’ feather’ee an’ ride’ee up to Choone on a couple o’ 
oars ! ” growled Ezekiel, with the savage note again in his 
voice. " Best take theeself off while thee got the chaance, 

I 

man ! 

For a minute or two, the pedlar eyed Ezekiel’s back in 
silence; then, setting his lips into a look of ugly determi- 
nation, he turned and hobbled off, his lame foot crunching 
the shingle heavily. 

Black as this boat me heart must be, s’pose,” thought 
Ezekiel grimly, as he heard the shingle grating harshly 
and slipping under the awkward tread. ^^But still, there 
es anawther man like me — I arn’t alone like Judas, poor 
lost saul ! ” And Ezekiel’s heart swelled with an unspeak- 
able feeling of relief : a strange sense of sombre exulta- 


^ Lock-up, or prison. 


84 


EZEKIELS SIN 


tion at the comradeship. “ I shud like to knaw un^ poor 
fella ! ayven ef he was to hate me.” And as he mused 
wistfully on the future ahead of him — a future drearily full 
of gloom and perplexity — Ezekiel kept muttering over and 
over to himself, "Onnly wish I cud knaw un — that awther 

t 

man ! 


CHAPTER XII 

SPRING 

Ezekiel felt too nervously unstrung that evening to raise 
with Drusilla the question as to what she had told the 
pedlar, and why she had said anything to him on the 
subject. He asked his wife, instead, to find out just what 
had happened, and also how much, or how little, Drusilla 
might have said to Joe. 

When Malva, the next morning, before Drusilla was 
downstairs, gave him an account of the scene in Choone 
bottoms, and told him why Drusilla (on the spur of the 
moment) had decided to tell the lie, Ezekiel remarked, 
with hopeless despondency, There ! it have beginned to 
ruin her life, too ! 'Tes wuss than poison, mawther, that 
money.” 

“ Tm afeerd 'tes, faather,” Malva said, helplessly. " I 
wedn say nawthin’ to her about it, ef I was thee,” she 
added anxiously. "Talkin’ waan’t undo wha’s done. An’ 
I don’t want no upset so close to the weddin’.” 

"All right, mawther: lev’ it be as it es. I ought to ha’ 
counted the cost ’fore I done it. Ef I onnly knawed then 
so much as I knaw now ! ” 

" Ah, ef GS a crooked letter, faather ! ” ^ 

" Iss, an’ mine es a crooked life.” 

"Don’t, faather! I caan’t beer to hear’ee talk like 
this.” 

^ A local pun, based on the identity in sound, in Cornish peasant 
speech, between the pronunciation of “if*’ and F. 


SPRING 


85 


’Tes feelin like it, I caan*t beer,” muttered Ezekiel. 

Thee’rt gittin’ whishter every day in thy ways,” sighed 
Malva. 

There! I waan’t say no more. Lev’ it go.” And 
Ezekiel went out on the beach for a look round before 
breakfast. 

After the talk with her mother, Drusilla was half ashamed, 
half afraid, to face her father. 

Malva, as well as Morvenna, had reproached her vigor- 
ously for the new trouble she might bring on Ezekiel, 
and on all of them, and her own conscience by no means 
held her blameless. 

But Ezekiel, when they met, made no reference to the 
matter : though his eyes, Drusilla fancied, studied her 
with a kind of furtive watchfulness, as if she showed indi- 
cations of some new strange depravity; or, in some way, 
had temporarily lost her footing in the household — had 
fallen from the intimate inner circle into the outer circle 
of strangers whose presence was a restraint. 

As far as speech went, Ezekiel was silent to the point of 
moodiness : and no one seemed able to recover her spirits 
while he was in the house. 

Drusilla, also, was very quiet and subdued : in fact, for 
her, she was surprisingly silent. For once, she let Mor- 
venna do the chief part of the talking: nor did she 
recover, even partially, from the embarrassment of the 
revelation, until Ezekiel was out of the house and off to 
his crab-pots. 

During the remainder of the day, even when she was 
alone with her mother, Drusilla was equally bitted by re- 
straint. At no time did she 'Met herself go” as was her 
wont; and her gestures, and even her tones, were un- 
wontedly subdued. 

Morvenna was troubled by the revelation quite as much 
as the others. It seemed to place the whole household 
in a position of new insecurity. Propped up shakily on 
one side by a lie supported by Joe’s vanity, and on the 
other side being steadily undermined the while by the 


86 EZEKIELS SIN 

ceaseless, crafty burrowing of the pedlar, the fortunes 
and happiness of the family were as insecure as they 
could well be. And Morvenna was not only agitated ; she 
was seriously alarmed. She did not share her father s 
feeling about ^nhe other man”— that faceless figure the 
pedlar had conjured up before Ezekiel — nor could she 
comprehend why he clung so to the idea. The unspeak- 
able relief the acceptance of the idea meant to Ezekiel 
(by lessening the sense of isolation that hitherto had 
appalled him) was something that Morvenna’s mind had no 
conception of. She grieved for her father’s gloomy per- 
plexity ; she was dimly frightened for herself and the 
shadows ahead of her; and she wondered, with just a little 
sense of ache, what the schoolmaster would say if, and 
when, the gossip reached him. Altogether, under the shock 
and confusion of these thoughts, she was as depressed as 
Drusilla, and perhaps even more wretched. 

So wretched did she feel, that her harassed appearance 
in school that day greatly worried and perplexed the school- 
master. 

"You are overtaxing yourself, Morvenna, I’m sure you 
are. It troubles me to see you looking so thoroughly 
out of sorts,” he remarked in a voice of affectionate 
anxiety. " Why not take a run up to Choone bottoms and 
back? I’ll let you leave early, if you would prefer to go 
alone.” 

"It isn’t that, Mr. Richards: it isn’t that I wouldn’t go 
with you’* 

" Well, come with me for half-an-hour’s walk after school. 
Will you, Morvenna ? Do, now ! Just to please me ! ” 

" I will, after the wedding : I can't before, Mr. Richards,'’ 
she replied, sinking her voice, her eyes evading his. "That 
is,” she added, colouring (and not now from mere senti- 
ment), "I will, after the wedding — if you want me to, 
then.” 

" Of course, I shall want you to ! I am waiting anxiously 
for you to be free. Indeed, I’m afraid I am looking forward 
to the treat almost too eagerly.” 


SPRING 


87 


Morvenna made no reply: wondering whether he would 
say the same if he knew all that was in her mind : her 
heart the while, under the ache of these thoughts, paining 
her to an extent that made her look strangely wan and 
pinched. 

The schoolmaster marvelled at her silence and at the 
trouble in her face, but he forebore to press the matter any 
further at present. 

When they were leaving the school, however, he took 
his place at her side, without any remark, and walked 
down the valley with her, chatting to her pleasantly. He 
tried his hardest to bring back to her face a glint of its 
old happiness, and succeeded so far, through his persistent 
good -humour, that presently she began to laugh with 
something like heartiness. Finally, the charming girlish 
sunniness crept back into her features; her cheeks began 
to bloom rosily and her lips curved to their old provo- 
cativeness. After all, she was young, and . . . love was 
irresistible ! Under its glance how could she be otherwise 
than happy ? 

Ezekiel was out on the sea-front as usual — engaged now 
in repairing some broken crab-pots — and the schoolmaster 
remarked, as they saw him in the distance, What a world 
of things your father must know about the sea ! I should 
like to have a good long chat with him about crabbing 
and fishing : it would be better than sitting indoors on 
such a beautiful afternoon. Don’t you think it would, 
now, Morvenna ? ” he asked. 

^^Yes, I daresay it would,” replied Morvenna eagerly: 
and he could see her eyes brighten and gladden at the 
prospect. He did not know that it was the thought of 
her father having some one to talk to, that first of all, and 
pre-eminently, was so pleasing to Morvenna : though that 
it chanced to be the particular ^^some one” so interesting 
to herself, was something the girl by no means lost sight 
of. Glancing through the door, or peeping out through 
the window, she would be able to see the schoolmaster 
for so much longer! Perhaps he would see her, too — 


88 


EZEKIELS SIN 


he might even come to the door with her father ! In 
any case (delightful prospect !) they would be near each 
other^ and she would be at the edge of fairyland even if 
indoors. 

Her face grew tremulously full of tenderness, and her 
pulse fairly danced at the delicious anticipation ! 

Seeing how much the idea seemed to please her, the 
schoolmaster walked down towards Ezekiel with Morvenna : 
and when the girl, blushing prettily at her part in the 
meeting, had set them chatting together with something 
like ease, she left them and went indoors to her mother. 

Drusilla already was impatiently expecting her, sundry 
pieces of sewing for the wedding outfit waiting to claim her 
attention as soon as she took oflT her hat : but to Morvenna 
this, now, was a pleasure and not a task. 

What a delightful evening that was, to be sure ! 

Nothing was a trouble or a weariness to Morvenna, her 
needle flew through her work, and she was as cheerful as a 
cricket. 

Peeping often through the window, she assured herself 
that her father and the schoolmaster were getting on 
excellently well together. The schoolmaster had seated 
himself close to the crab-pots, and the two men were 
smoking and chatting just like two old cronies. 

Morvenna was delighted. She was deeply pleased for 
the sake of her father: she was gratified that the school- 
master had found such favour in his eyes : and she was 
proud also that her father, rough and uneducated though 
he was, could hold a man like the schoolmaster so en- 
thralled. 

In every possible way, it was a most delicious evening ! 

Morvenna’s heart leaped and fluttered, her cheeks filled 
with colour, and her whole frame throbbed with a strange 
exultancy and unrest. 

The supreme enchantment of love was on her : and every- 
thing that ministered to it was as honey to her thoughts. 

At last — but all too soon ! — the schoolmaster rose from 
his seat beside the crab-pots. Morvenna saw him give a 


YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW 


89 


lingering glance at the cottage — how she wished that their 
eyes might have met, if only for a moment !— and then . . . 
for her, at least . . . the beautiful evening was over, and 
the grey of the gloaming seemed to set in all in an 
instant. 

I like that young man ! it have done me good to talk 
to un,” Ezekiel remarked to Morvenna, as he entered the 
cottage. 

Morvenna’s heart fell a-dancing, and her eyes shone with 
happiness. 

I’m so glad of it, father ! ” she cried, smiling delightedly. 


CHAPTER XIII 

YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW 

On the Sunday before the wedding, Drusilla suggested to 
Joe that he should get Mr. Pengelly to lend them his trap 
for the occasion. They could then drive from her father’s 
cottage to the church at Choone, and back to their new 
home at the edge of Choone bottoms, in something like the 
style befitting the occasion. 

P’raps he would like to drop in to the wedding-supper : 
you can give him the invitation, if you think he would accept 
it,” added Drusilla, remembering many things that Joe was 
entirely ignorant of. 

Ten years previously, when Drusilla was a girl of sixteen 
and the miller was a young man of nine-and-twenty, Robert 
Pengelly had been her "shiner” for a few summer months, 
and she had hoped, and tried to believe, that he really " had 
a mind to her.” But just at this time his father had died 
and left Robert the mill, and the "courting” (if such it were) 
had flickered out and come to nothing. In the last half- 
a-dozen years, Drusilla had not exchanged half-a-dozen 
words with him. She had so long ago given up all idea 
of him as a possible sweetheart that when his man, Joe 


EZEKIELS SIN 


90 

Rosevear, began to eye her and make up to her, she gladly 
jumped at the chance of securing Joe as a husband; care- 
lessly indifferent to the fact that, in the freshness of her girl- 
hood, his master had tasted her lips and had almost taught 
her to love him. Now that she was about to be married, 
it had struck her suddenly that she would like her old 
sweetheart (for such was the part she now gave him in the 
masque of her memories) to see her in her triumph as the 
wife of another man. She half hoped that, as a bachelor, 
he would regret his lost opportunity, and would be tantalised 
by the thought that she might have been his wife, if he 
had been less careless when he had the chance of her. It 
was thoughts of this kind that Drusilla’s nature dwelt on by 
preference and her vanity took an almost insatiable delight 
in. And, so close though she was to marriage, she indulged 
in them whenever she had the chance : Robert Pengelly, 
or any other man she had flirted with, forming — in this 
shadowy revel of lost hopes and opportunities — a convenient 
lay-figure for her thoughts to dance gaily with. 

On the Monday, Joe accordingly took the opportunity to 
ask Mr. Pengelly for the loan of the gig. And the miller — 
like Drusilla, remembering the past with a twitch of plea- 
sure — granted it with a breezy heartiness at which Joe was 
greatly gratified. 

So flattered was he, in fact, that he bashfully proffered the 
invitation : P’raps thee’d drop in a minute or two to the 
weddin’-supper, Mester Pengelly ? We shud be bra’ an* 
plaised to see’ee, sir, an’ shud take it as a favour.” 

Right, Joe ! I’ll drop in for a few minutes, ef I can. 
But, mind ! ef I do, I shall expect a kiss from the bride 
for the loan of the gig,” he added laughingly. 

Joe grinned approvingly. Trust the wemmin — she 
waan’t refuse ’ee. I’ll be bound, sir,” said he. 

And with this the matter dropped and the talk turned 
again to business. 

Joe duly reported his success to Drusilla, and laughingly 
told her what she would have to pay the miller for the 
loan of the gig. 


YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW 


91 


Drusilla made no remark, though her cheeks burned 
hotly at the suggestion. It would not be the first kiss, 
by a long way, that Robert Pengelly had had from her. 
But the first kiss” was always the sweetest, as well as the 
newest, and he had obtained that from her years ago — as 
she remembered vividly, even now. 

The wedding went off without a hitch. It was a brilliant 
J une day, delightfully warm and sunny, and the little church 
at Choone looked almost bright on the occasion, owing to 
the sunshine streaming in through the tall, barred windows, 
and the gaily-coloured dresses of the girls and women who 
were present. 

The pedlar sat on the steps of the ancient cross in 
Choone village and fiddled loudly to the bridal party as 
they mounted the gig and drove off: and Joe (who had 
no more ear for music than a cow) was mightily pleased 
at the unexpected compliment. 

Why, the man es playin’ a funeral hymn, surely ! ” 
remarked one of the villagers, suddenly recognising a familiar 
movement in the tune. 

“ No ! ’tes impossible ! The man wedn’ be so wicked ! ” 

I tell’ee, he es ! There ! you listen to it now ! ” And 
the speaker began to repeat, beating the time the while : — 

Infinite joy, or endless woe, 

Depends on every breath ; 

And yet how unconcerned we go 
Upon the brink of death ! ” 

So ’tes ! the vellun ! the wicked li’l blaggard ! ” 

Here ! thee stop that to wance ! or we’ll break thy fiddle 
across the head o’ thee ! ” 

^^Do’ee hear, you !” 

Stop that, you darned I’il varmunt ! else it’ll be the wuss 
for’ee ! ” and one of them seized him roughly by the shoulder. 

^^Eh.^ Don’t like the tune, don’t’ee, friends ” quoth the 
pedlar leeringly, as he lowered the fiddle from his chin and 
rose slowly to his feet. ^'Well, tastes defier. The man 
hisself dedn’ mind it.” 


92 


EZEKIEL’S SIN 


Thee’rt a law, dirty scamp ! best be off out o’ this ! Ef 
I had my way weth’ee, I’d duck’ee in the hoss-pond.” 

"No offence! no offence! ’Tes onnly my way!” cackled 
the pedlar, with anothet leer. And off he hobbled as quickly 
as he could. 

Before the day was over, Joe and Drusilla were informed, 
by several officious friends, of the " unlucky ” tune the pedlar 
had played them out of church with : and neither of them 
felt particularly comfortable at the knowledge. 

" He do awe us a grudge,” said Joe to Drusilla : " he’ll pay 
it rvan day for sartin ; thee see ! ” 

"Ay,” said Ezekiel, who had overheard the gossip, "he’s 
like Owld Nick, he do never forgit a debt.” And, with that, 
Ezekiel lapsed into the old gloomy moodiness, which, during 
the day so far, he had kept reasonably out of sight. 

" Still, we’re marr-ried : he caan’t undo that I ” said Drusilla. 
" The passon have made us man an’ wife — lev’ un fiddle so 
much as he like ! ” 

" It was a cruel thing to do ! ” said Morvenna, troubled in 
mind. 

"We ha’ n’t heerd the last of he, yet,” Malva added. 

And the female gossips remarked in whispers — their minds 
looking ahead, as usual, to possible child-birth and its 
troubles — that it might have a wicked meaning one day, at 
any rate. And, with this, they glanced significantly at onq 
another and shook their heads. 

Still, in spite of this untoward incident and the comments 
it gave rise to, the wedding-supper passed off very success- 
fully. In all, there were quite a dozen guests present, in- 
cluding Joe’s sister and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Roscorla, 
two or three unmarried friends of Drusilla, and, last but not 
least, Mr. Pengelly. 

One of Drusilla’s female friends, a guest on the occasion, 
well remembered when Drusilla and Robert Pengelly were 
supposed to be " shiners,” or, at any rate, were remarkably 
" sweet ” on each other. And of this she now slyly reminded 
Drusilla. " Seems like old days — don’t it } — seein’ thee and 
Robert Pengelly together. Thee ought to ha’ stuck to un. 


YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW gs 

Drusilla, an* left ^ he be the man ! ’* she whispered insinuat- 
ingly into Drusilla’s ear. 

I’m contented as things are^ thank you, Janey ! ” said 
Drusilla shortly. 

"Well, it wed be Robert Pengelly for money !” And 
Janey began to ogle the miller determinedly. 

A tall, burly, black-bearded man, with heavy flesh-folds 
under the eyes, and with the slight, but unmistakable, 
beginnings of a paunch, Robert Pengelly, as he moved to 
and fro among the guests, looked less the type of an un- 
attached bachelor than of a reasonably satisfied domestic 
man ; a husband with a healthy appetite and an equally 
healthy digestion, and one whose ambitions and passions, 
if not absolutely dead and buried, were, at any rate, 
rarely troublesome and could easily be appeased. That 
he was still unmarried was a misfortune, thought most 
of the girls of the parish. But, evidently, Mr. Pengelly 
thought otherwise. Or else, he had failed hitherto to 
find his affinity, and took the matter as philosophically as 
befitted a man of forty, who chanced to be a man of property, 
to boot. 

The " fun ” at the wedding-supper was hearty, if a little 
boisterous. Indeed, it was rather too noisy for Ezekiel, 
who looked as much out of place as a cormorant in a 
canary-cage. Morvenna, also, soon tired of the particular 
form the "fun” took. Accordingly, she and her father 
left the cottage somewhat early and walked home together 
through the quiet summer night, with a sense of exquisite 
relief at being out of the noise at last, 

Malva, however, at Drusilla’s especial request, agreed to 
stay till the end, in order to assist, it being arranged that 
she should come home with Mr. and Mrs. Roscorla, who 
had determined "to see the fun to the finish,” as they 
expressed it. 

It was nearly midnight before the party finally broke 
up. Among the last to go was the black-bearded miller. 


1 Local for " let.’ 


94 


EZEKIELS SIN 


who during the evening had been watching his old sweet- 
heart with close attention : a compliment that Drusilla 
certainly had not repaid him in kind, though it is possible 
that (secretly) she had paid it in her thoughts. 

As he was leaving, he remarked to Drusilla, '^Well, 
what about the gig-hire? Joe promised me I should have 
a kiss from’ee for it.” 

'^Well, le’ Joe give it to’ee hisself,” replied Drusilla; 
glancing at him with a sudden flashing of the eyes. 

'^Thee wedn’ ha’ said that wance,’* remarked the miller 
significantly, lowering his voice for her private ear. 

I was younger then — an’ so wert thee.” 

^^An’ tha’s true, too.” And, with that, he remarked 
loudly, as he stood at the door, ^^Well, good night to’ee 
all ! Good luck to’ee, Joe ! An’ the same to thee, Mrs. 
Rosevear.” 

^^Thaank’ee, sir!” said Joe heartily. 

But Drusilla remained silent. 


CHAPTER XIV 

THE DAZZLE OF LOYB 

" This evening is to be our evening, then, Morvenna ? ” said 
the schoolmaster, his voice as full of happiness as his face. 

^^Yes,” said Morvenna, dropping her eyes beneath his 
glance. 

^^Well, I am glad it is come at last! I hope you are as 
glad as I am, Morvenna.” 

''Yes, I think I am,” answered Morvenna softly. 

All that day the wine of anticipation was in their veins, 
exhilarating them to an extent that neither could disguise. 
Their eyes were bright and restless and flashed joyously 
at each other, their lips curved to smiles frequently, and 
their hearts were as buoyant as their thoughts. 

Even in the midst of the noise and bustle of the school. 


THE DAZZLE OF LOVE 


95 


and the almost incessant demands on their attention, their 
thoughts drifted again and again to the exquisite dream- 
land of love ; and all the green paths young feet find for 
themselves through it, seemed to open out before them 
with fascinating vividness. 

The husky cawing of crows drifted in through the open 
door, and occasionally, from the clump of trees near the 
schoolhouse, the call of the cuckoo floated in faintly. The 
hot June sunshine beat dazzlingly on the window-panes, 
and the bees hummed in and out with the impudent 
freedom of flies. The children were rosily warm, but not 
unhappy : and the schoolmaster and Morvenna — they were 
warm and happy both ! 

The schoolmaster had always had in him a touch of the 
dumb poet — a passion for beauty and beautiful things, a 
great hungering after nature, and a modesty in the face 
of life and its infinite mysteries which had tended to 
keep him solitary, yet curiously quick with thought. And 
the full strength of these moods he had recently been 
concentrating on Morvenna : with the result that at last 
he was in love with his little assistant with all the deep and 
steadfast passion that his nature was capable of. 

To him, Morvenna, in her sweet, girlish modesty, so fresh 
and naif and sunny as she was, seemed to embody the very 
ideal of maidenhood. And his love for her — now that it 
was aware of itself as love — permeated his nature in its 
every nook and cranny, vibrated in every fibre of him, and 
was as active as his blood itself. 

Likings he might have many — no man has ever yet 
escaped them — but never in all his life would he have 
another love like this ! 

And Morvenna — girl though she was, or because she was 
so girlish — her heart had gone out of her keeping before 
she was even aware of it. The yearning hunger, the 
trembling modesty, the enchantment of this love, all the 
sweetness and the bewildering dazzle of it had surprised 
her at her freshest moment : and the girl was at its mercy 
and was joyously glad that it was so. 


96 


EZEKIELS SIN 


In the cadences of her voice^ in her glowing face, in her 
lips so prompt to second her heart, but most of all in the 
strange wonder and happiness in her eyes, the new hope 
and the new gladness were irresistibly manifest. And so 
deeply was she aware of it, so exquisitely conscious of it in 
every fibre, that she was half ashamed this afternoon to let 
the schoolmaster see her face. 

When the school was at last dismissed and they were 
out in the lane together, the schoolmaster and Morvenna 
wandered off like people in a dream. 

Through sequestered lanes full of the scent of green 
things growing and of the exquisite perfumes of briar- 
roses and trailing sprays of honeysuckle, under the pleasant 
shade of tall green trees with their long leaves fluttering 
and whispering drowsily, past cattle grazing lazily, past 
the groups of mowers in the hay-meadows, past happy- 
faced children picking flowers in the hedges, on and on 
the schoolmaster and Morvenna wandered tirelessly; talk- 
ing they scarcely knew of what, but so happy all the 
time ! 

Presently they found themselves, almost without knowing 
how they got there, among the ferny tangle in the grove at 
the head of the valley. 

It was a still, green, out-of-the world spot; big, rough- 
barked trunks in every direction and overhead the widely 
spread, interlacing branches ; with occasional breaks where 
the June sky looked through briefly, making the heart ache 
at its far-off beauty. Thousands of foxgloves were in 
flower in the breezier openings among the trees, forming 
in places a dense, rich mass of colour that glowed through 
the soft green twilight voluptuously ; and patches of vividly 
blossoming gorse and daintier broom flashed on the eye 
from the knolls or out of the hollows, till a sense of some- 
thing like glamour stole over the senses, and made fairy- 
land, dreamland, the paradise of love itself, seem only a 
single step on the other side of the actual. 

Through the soft green gloom the schoolmaster and 
Morvenna wandered dreamily — now over patches of smooth 


THE DAZZLE OF LOVE 


97 


springy sward, now ankle-deep in hyacinths and masses of 
dog-violets, and now through the dry dead leaves of the 
previous autumn — wandered on in a silence that was almost 
perilous, so plainly could they hear their hearts and feel 
the lilt of their thoughts. 

All around them the cuckoos were calling to each other, 
the wood-doves crooned their somnolent coo-croo-oo ! ” the 
leaves at intervals rustled clappingly, the hum of the bees 
was in their ears. 

Presently the schoolmaster, with a sudden tremble in his 
voice, asked Morvenna to sit down for a few minutes to 
rest herself. 

Morvenna seated herself in silence, strangely timid, yet 
strangely happy. 

A lane of glimmering sunshine ended a little distance 
from her, and, looking upward in that direction, she could 
see an exquisite space of sky, with the fringed sprays of 
the trees pencilled greenly at the edge of it. At her 
back sounded the drowsy coo-croo-oo/ her breasts heaved 
beneath her bodice, her heart panting softly ; the light fell 
on her face almost with a loving tenderness, so tempered 
was it; and (best of all and sweetest) the schoolmaster was 
at her side ! 

Morvenna ! ” said the schoolmaster abruptly, putting his 
hand over hers, which was lying on her lap within easy 
distance of him. 

^^Yes,” said Morvenna softly, but without turning her 
eyes towards him. 

Morvenna!” he repeated again: and his voice startled 
her by its intensity and its unfamiliar note. “ Morvenna ! . . . 
if I said I loved you ...” 

Say it ! ” whispered Morvenna tremulously. 

^‘^My precious one, how I love you!” he cried, bending 
over her tenderly. 

And with that he put his arm around her and drew her to 
him hungrily : and she nestled her head upon his shoulder, 
her cheek resting against his. 

know it, dear" she whispered: the caressing word 

o 


98 


EZEKIELS SIN 


(new and deliciously strange though it was) coming to her 
as naturally as its mating-note to a bird. 

My darling ! how I love you ! 

" I know it ! I know it, dear ! she cried to him joyously. 

" And you love me, Morvenna ? Really and truly love 
me } ” he asked anxiously. 

What else, dear, have I been doing all these weeks } " 
she replied gently. 

Paul drew her still closer to him — their faces turned to 
each other frankly — and their lips met at last in a long, 
clinging kiss. 

The kiss was again and again repeated in all its passionate 
ardour, and then they leaned their cheeks together, brim- 
ming with love and so happy ! 

So happy ! so happy ! It was the air of Paradise they 
breathed ! 

Many hours and many forms of joy life might have in 
store for them — would they ever have another so sweet and 
exquisite as this ? 


CHAPTER XV 

THE WIND IN THE TREES 

Don’t b’leeve in fortune-tellin’, s’pose ; or in charmin’ 
ayther — do’ee, sir ? ” 

The schoolmaster looked up from his book in surprise. 
Morvenna could not come out with him, being busy at 
home with her mother — her duties having increased greatly 
since Drusilla’s marriage — and he had sauntered out here 
among the trees at the edge of the stream to read and 
lazily enjoy himself in the quiet of the afternoon. He 
was leaning back against the trunk of a wide-branched 
elm reading an English translation of Epictetus, and had 
thought that he was absolutely alone in his nook. Alone, 
that is, with the birds and the rabbits, with the vagrant 
butterflies, drifting idly, and the busily humming bees ; 


THE WIND IN THE TREES 


99 

which for the last couple of hours had been all his company. 
To hear a cackling voice suddenly propounding a question 
over his shoulder, and that a question that might almost 
have come from some old wood-gnome, was just a little 
startling, to say the least of it. 

He glanced hastily over his shoulder, with a look suffi- 
ciently surprised ; and then, as the pedlar came hobbling* 
round in front of him with his old brown fiddle under 
his arm, he replied, somewhat distantly, " Why do you 
ask, my man ? ” 

'‘^Why, because thee’rt a schoolmaster and I seed’ee 
raidin’ that book,” and he pointed to the little red-bound 
edition of Epictetus. “ Thee’rt s’posed to be a knawin’ 
wan, round about here. So’m I — though not in thy way, 
b’leeve.” 

Ah ! ” replied the schoolmaster, in a non-committal tone. 

"Iss, I can charm an’ tell fortunes a bit; an’ I can 
fiddle a bit, too,” added the pedlar, touching the instru- 
ment. Like to hear a tune, wed’ee ? I do knaw some 
beauties ! ” 

The schoolmaster looked the little oddity over from head 
to foot; noting his gleaming, beady eyes, his tousled black 
hair (almost as long and lank as the locks of a deck-mop), 
and his thin, cruel fingers, like the wrinkled claws of a 
bird. 

"Well, I hardly know,” said the schoolmaster unde- 
cidedly. He was perplexed by the strange fascination of 
repulsion which, here in the green, sap-sweetened atmos- 
phere, the odd little figure seemed to exercise over him. 

" I lamed this from the gipsies,” said the pedlar, raising 
his fiddle to his chin ; and with that he struck, all at once, 
into a fantasia of the oddest and wildest character : a caprice 
whose startlingly contrasted effects seemed almost to touch 
the tap-roots of the schoolmaster’s nerves. 

Ripple, ripple, ripple, went the laughter of the maidens ; 
and then crashed in the angry cries of the men : now 
the women-folk were feeding one with wine and honey 
till the veins throbbed voluptuously and the brain was in 


100 


EZEKIELS SIN 


a whirl ; and now the men -folk were savagely hacking at 
one with knives — piercing, cutting, slashing venomously — till 
the nerves were anguished poignantly down to the very 
roots: the whole ending in a sound so barbarously like a 
screech of agony, that the schoolmaster sprang to his feet 
with the sweat starting to his brow. 

What possessed you, man, to play such a piece as that ! 
he cried angrily. 

No offence ! no offence ! ” replied the pedlar depreca- 
tingly. I onnly done it to shaw’ee that I got gifts, so to 
spaik. Thee waan’t think the less o’ me for it in the long 
run. I’ll be bound.” 

" I didn’t think you had it in you,” remarked the school- 
master, eyeing him thoughtfully. 

^^Tha’s what many do sim to feel when I do charm 
an’ tell fortunes. Ef I towld’ee thy fortune now, sir — no 
offence ! but I cud do it — it wed s’prise’ee, p’raps, to notice 
how clain it’ll come true.” 

The schoolmaster stared at him with a dreamy wonder. 

Nonsense, my good man ! ” he managed to say, at last. 

If you know fortunes, why not tell your own ? ” 

That esn’ to be : They Who gov’ us the power don’t 
allow it. But — it ben towld to me,” said the pedlar, his eyes 
dulling. I ha’n’t lived like awther men esactly, so to spaik : 
an’ I shaan’t esactly die like them, so to spaik agen.” 

The schoolmaster looked at the man more and more per- 
plexedly. He was prepared now to listen to him not only 
with patience but with interest. 

“ So you charm and tell fortunes } ” he remarked ques- 
tioningly to the pedlar. And do you find the folks 
fairly” {credulous, he was about to say, but he changed 
the word abruptly, and phrased it), “ fairly willing to believe 
you ? ” 

They caan’t help theirselves : ’tes in the blood, sir,” 
said the pedlar. Go back so fur as thee like, there 
all’ys ben charmin’ an’ fortune-tellin’ : same as there all’ys 
ben schoolmasters, s’pose, an’ they praichers. Thee ha’n’t 
got no idea, a man to wan side like thee, sir — I main a 


THE WIND IN THE TREES 


101 


man all’ys raidin’ books, an’ out o’ wemmin’s gossip, an’ not 
goin’ to the kiddly-wink^ nor nawthin’ that ’ud make’ee 
sociable like weth awthers — no offence, sir ! ’tes onnly my 
way of expressin’ meself — but, awin’ to thaise things, thee 
don’t knaw the folks, sir, as I do.” 

'^That’s true,” said the schoolmaster, again seating him- 
self under the tree. I know the children a little, but 
their parents seem to fight shy of me.” 

" O’ coorse they do, sir : stand to raison they wed. Thee 
bein’ so clever weth thy tongue, an’ so book-larned an’ that 
sort o’ thing : an’ they bein’ onnly a passel o’ bussa-brains 
an’ boobas.2 Now, I do knaw them, sir, ’cause I ben reared 
up weth them : an’ I’m wan o’ theirselves, so to spaik,” 
said the pedlar : a graft o’ the same stock,” he added, 
seating himself near the schoolmaster. “ An’ I do see a bra’ 
lot o’ things that nowan wedn’ draim of,” he remarked, draw- 
ing up his knees and laying the fiddle across them, and then 
resting his chin on the fiddle itself. 

The schoolmaster stared at him with a fixed, attentive 
gaze, listening to his garrulous talk without protest or 
rejoinder. It was almost as if the odd little figure had 
charmed the schoolmaster’s mind asleep, and was imposing 
his own thoughts on the somnolent consciousness. 

Fixing his glittering little eyes on the dreamy eyes of 
the schoolmaster, the pedlar began to dilate on his ex- 
periences in charming and fortune-telling: relating strange 
cures that he had effected by means extravagant and often 
grotesque, and fortunes that he had forecasted with an accu- 
racy as startling as if he had peeped into the book of Fate. 

And all the talk, or so it seemed to the schoolmaster, was 
directed to proving to him the inherent deceitfulness and 
untrustworthiness of human nature ; its love of subterfuge 
and chicanery ; its unappeasable appetites ; its restlessness, 
its vanity, its clamant dissatisfaction. 

As he sat here among the trees in the sap-impregnated 
atmosphere, the pollen of the flowers and grasses wafted 


^ Public-house. 


Empty-heads and fools. 


102 


EZEKIELS SIN 


incessantly to his nostrils, in his ears the hum of bees 
and the mating-songs of birds, and the garrulous babble 
of the brook and of the pedlar blending drowsily in his 
consciousness, the schoolmaster drifted insensibly into one 
of his dreamy moods. 

He felt a strange touch of kinship with the growths 
and inhabitants of the grove stirring in the inner sap of 
his nature and at the very root and centre of his brain. 
It seemed to him as though the oaks waved their gnarled 
arms to him like old acquaintances greeting him on the 
village highway; that the birds gliding to and fro among 
the fresh green leaves, with their little beady eyes glanc- 
ing at him furtively, wanted to tell him something, he 
was not sure what ; and that the wind stirring the boughs, 
and the stream rippling among the rushes, had also some- 
thing to communicate, if he could only understand. 

This feeling that the woodland was endeavouring to 
impart something to him, was trying to impress his con- 
sciousness with some mood of its own, produced in him 
such an odd sense of unusualness, that he felt like a man 
half asleep — drowsing helplessly — and listening the while to 
a revelation that, if he were awake, would have seemed 
to him merely extravagant, nothing less and nothing more. 

The trees were no longer domes of greenery, supported 
on rough-barked pillars rooted firmly in the sward, they 
were simply vegetable vampires sucking greedily from 
Mother Earth the nutriment they hungered after and 
stored in every fibre. The flowers were insatiable mouths 
ever gaping after sustenance, mere advertisements of an 
appetite whose satisfaction was their life. The birds among 
the boughs, and the rabbits scuttling through the ferns, 
were but clever variations on the same monotonous theme : 
were merely appetites incarnate, nothing more and nothing 
less. And the grove populous with life — from the swarms 
of insects among the grasses to the foxes and rabbits in 
the coverts, and the moles and worms burrowing craftily 
beneath the soil — was like a devil’s mouth full of busy 
grinders, ever feeding a belly as insatiable as Death. 


THE WIND IN THE TREES 


103 


Suddenly the pedlar, in moving his head, unintentionally 
struck his chin on the strings of the fiddle, and evoked from 
them a sound so startlingly like a wail that the schoolmaster 
was abruptly roused out of his reverie. 

" What was that ? he asked disquietedly, his eyes quest- 
ing right and left. 

^^Onnly my chin touched the strings,*’ answered the 
pedlar, staring at him watchfully. Ded’ee think ’twas the 
cry o’ that man I was tellin’ee ’bout ? ” 

What man ? ” asked the schoolmaster, perplexedly. 

" That man whose wife pushed un ovver Kimyell cleff ’cause 
she wanted her cousin, an’ ’cause he wanted she ; they both 
bein’ young wans, an’ restless,” explained the pedlar. 

What was done to her } ” asked the schoolmaster. 

Done to her ! ” echoed the pedlar. Why, nawthin’, that 
I do knaw of. She’s livin’ now — well an’ hearty — an’ got 
haaf-a-dozen cheldern. Never had none by her fust man 
— an’ that was haaf the trouble. But by her cousin she got 
them fast enough to satisfy her, I shud think : they come 
’most tumblin’ ovver ayche awther’s heels, so to spaik.” 

Living now — and well and hearty ! ” repeated the school- 
master reflectively. 

'^What else shud she be.^ havin’ got her way, an’ all 
she wanted. I sowld her some frillin’ for her neck not two 
days sence. She do carr-ry her age well : don’t look a day 
more’n thirty. An’ she esn’ the fust, an’ waan’t be the 
last wan, I ’spect, who’ve played the same game” (here 
the pedlar lowered his voice) ‘^an’ cleared the board in 
some such way after it, sir. They’re all’ys worryin’ me 
for charms an’ to tell their fortunes, the wemmin are: 
twenty, iss, a hunderd times wuss than the men, they are. 
I wedn’ trust a woman, owld or young, so far as I cud see 
her.” And with that he began tentatively to open his 
budget of tales that handled, coarsely enough, the frailty 
and falsity of women : unmarried girls, young wives, matrons 
older if not slyer, all of them, in his experiences, having 
added to his budget freely. 

But the schoolmaster stopped him abruptly. "Thank 


104. 


EZEKIELS SIN 


you, I don’t wish to hear tales of that kind.” And he rose 
to his feet and prepared to walk away. 

The pedlar, rising also, hobbled up to his side. '^No 
offence ! no offence ! ” he remarked, blinking up depre- 
catingly. owlder than thee art, sir — years an’ years 

owlder — an’ I thought I’d warn’ee, friendly like, ’genst 
wemmin an’ their ways. Not mainin’ no offence, sir ! An’ 
beggin’ your pardon ef I said anything in my coose ^ way, 
sir, that have vexed’ee.” 

'^Oh, I quite understand that you intended no offence. 
The afternoon is slipping away ; I must be turning home- 
wards.” 

The pedlar hobbled along at the schoolmaster’s side, his 
old brown fiddle tucked under his arm. As fine a charm 
as I do knaw for keepin’ a woman true to a man,” said he, 
still sticking persistently to his theme, " es to git a lock of 
her heer an’ a lock of her faather’s an’ a lock o’ the beer o’ 
the man who do want to tie her to un. Buried, weth a charm 
that I do knaw of said ovver them, that do tie the woman as 
fast as the coffin-nails do fasten down a corpse. Ef ever you 
shud have a mind to a young woman, now, sir, an’ wed git 
a lock of her heer an’ a lock of her faathers, mind ! an’ 
gi’ them to me weth a lock o’ thy awn — an’ mind ! all o’ 
them sep’rate, else ’twed spoil the charm — I cud tie the 
maid’s thoughts to’ee, sir, so fast as never was : never 
waver, nor change, she wedn’ — no more than the sun his- 
self! No fear o’ she, then, bein’ like they awther wans I 
towld’ee of ; all’ys the same she wed be to’ee, sir ; an’ all’ys 
so true as truth ! ” 

Why her hair and her father’s ? ” 

Heer’s a powerful strange thing, sir : a part o’ wan’s 
life, so to spaik,” answered the pedlar, a little haltingly. 

An’ it do act cureyus on wan in many ways. An’ . . . 
anyway, heer it must be ! ” 

Why her father’s hair ? Why not her mother’s ? ” asked 
the schoolmaster : putting the question idly, or merely to 
perplex the pedlar. 


' Coarse. 


THE WIND IN THE TREES 


105 


The odd little creature gave him a quick, suspicious 
glance ; his beady black eyes glittering restlessly and almost 
angrily. *Tes a part o’ the charm,” he mumbled con- 
fusedly, dropping his head. An’ it wed be well wuth thy 
tryin’ sir,” he added confidentially : that es, ef thee got 
any young maid in thy mind, sir.” 

'^Thanks ! If ever I feel like trying it. I’ll let you know,” 
said the schoolmaster carelessly. 

I’m owlder than thee art an’ I do knaw young folks 
ways, sir, an’ do sympathise weth them ; an’ I’ve seed’ee, 
sir, weth as nice an’ putty a young maiden ...” 

‘‘ That will do, my man ! ” said the schoolmaster, with 
warning sternness. 

“It wedn’ do’ee no harm in the world, nor she nayther, 
sir ! ” 

“ That will do, my man ! ” 

The pedlar glanced up at him furtively — a watchful, wily 
look that, for all its fleetingness, studied him closely. 

Evidently he recognised that to continue the subject 
further would be useless : so he remarked, with as near an 
approach to his old manner as he could manage, “ No offence, 
sir ! no offence ! An’ owld fortune-teller an’ charmer I be, 
sir, an’ ben all’ys : an’ a man caan’t wash his hands of his 
trade, all in a minute, sir.” 

'^Well, good evening,” said the schoolmaster, as they 
presently emerged from the grove on to the highway. 

Good ayv’nin’ to’ee, sir ! good ay v’nin’ ! ” replied the 
pedlar, touching his hat. 

If Ezekiel had escaped a new peril this afternoon, it was 
only the little pedlar who was aware of the fact : the school- 
master had not even remotely guessed at it. 

But the pedlar owed him a grudge for the defeat, none 
the less. 


106 


EZEKIELS SIN 


CHAPTER XVI 

WEDDED BLISS 

Considered dispassionately, Drusilla’s marriage was not a 
brilliant success : although as men go ” (in the sarcastic 
phrase of the women-folk) Joe Rosevear might be said to be 
a reasonably good husband. 

True, he was not particularly affectionate ; but neither 
was he (for a man) exceptionally unkind. A bit rough in 
his talk, and in his ways more than a bit selfish, he was 
still, on the whole, in his failings as well as in his virtues, 
average and middling, like a pilchard out of a bussaful.^ 

He liked the strongest cup of tea and the best slice of 
bread and butter, and if one fermade ^ only were left in the 
bussa, that fermade must be kept for Joe, whoever else 
might be in want of it. Then he must have his weekly 
ounce of tobacco and his pint of beer daily, no matter how 
inelastic his wages might be, or what other necessary 
expenses had to be met. And if Drusilla wanted a pair 
of shoes and Joe desired a new billycock,” it was the hat, 
and not the shoes, that was the first to be purchased. In 
fact, if anything in the household expenses had to be cut 
fine, it was Drusilla’s stomach, and not Joe’s, that had to 
suffer for it in the end. 

Joe considered that if he had a fault as a man (and he 
would not deny that this was possible : he would be fair 
all round) then his fault was that he was a little too in- 
considerate towards himself : a little too inclined to accept, 
without question, privations and limitations that he had 
every right to rebel against. 

Other men, for instance, he would sometimes remind 
Drusilla, allowed themselves an ounce and a half of packet ” 
tobacco weekly, while he was contented with a trumpery 

^ Bussa = jar. 

* Pilchards cured by a special process. 


WEDDED BLISS 


107 


ounce of shag : and many men, instead of a pint of beer a 
day — but, there ! he would say nothing : he would make 
a pint do for him. Had he been single, now, he would 
have had his couple of pints and his couple of ounces . . . 
but, seeing that he was married, he must make the best 
of it, he supposed. And with this he would close the dis- 
cussion with the sigh of one resigned. 

It was an education for Drusilla to live with a man of 
this stamp, after having lived with a man so unselfish as 
her father : and the effect of the experience on her was 
shown in fifty different ways. 

Still, she determined, once for all, that she would not 
make a laughing-stock of herself before the parish. If 
they thought to fry her for a fool, they should lose their 
fat, she decided. 

The stronger nature — stronger by reason of its more con- 
centrated selfishness — therefore ruled in the house, and 
Drusilla bowed to the yoke in silence. She was married, 
and she had the expectancy of motherhood to look forward 
to : the compensations of her position she might possibly 
find in this. 

But Drusilla*s neighbours were not so blind as she tried 
to hope they were. 

To them, the drama at the hearthside appealed only as 
a comedy : and it was vastly amusing to them, cackling 
together of an afternoon, to recall how the big blonde 
woman, with her soft pinky attractiveness, was led by the 
nose, so to speak, by her little bullet-headed husband, and 
made to sing to his tune, whatever it might chance to be. 

To and fro in the parish Joe would strut of a Sunday, 
eyeing the girls with an attentiveness which they were by 
no means anxious for, now that he had done his marketing 
and was no longer a possible purchaser. But that they 
giggled at him and ridiculed him mercilessly among them- 
selves, he was quite unaware of, and would not have be- 
lieved had he been told of it : so tightly had Vanity stuffed 
her cotton in his ears. 

In his looking-glass he had no competitor: as he was 


108 


EZEKIELS SIN 


aware each time he looked in it. And what was the world 
but a bigger looking-glass, mirroring an equally attractive 
man ? 

So placid was his conceit that even Drusilla was occasion- 
ally blinded by it, and credited its report almost to the 
verge of jealousy. 

When he came home boasting how this girl had stared at 
him, and how that girl had offered him a big bunch of 
pansies, while a third had loitered at the mill on purpose to 
chat with him, Drusilla would flare out against the impudent 
hussies, and tell him that a married man ought to know 
better. If she had her way, she would say, all men when they 
were married should wear nose-rings like pigs, so that un- 
married girls might be saved from making fools of themselves. 

• Joe, however, merely grinned, with a sense of deep satis- 
faction: and felt half a foot taller as he strutted about the 
kitchen with his fat thumbs stuck in the armholes of his 
waistcoat. 

But the piquancy of the situation was rapidly exhausted. 
The girls soon grew tired of making eyes” at a married 
man merely to tempt him to make a fool of himself for 
their private delectation. His conceit might be inexhaus- 
tible — apparently it was — but the fun of the game was 
quickly over, as far as they were concerned. So, presently, 
one after another, they gave Joe "the go by”; and the 
waggoner began to feel that his world was getting emptier, 
and that being a married man distinctly had its drawbacks. 

That his neglect of his personal appearance was the reason 
why the girls had begun to think less of him, struck Joe as 
the only possible explanation of the matter: and the cause 
rankled in his mind quite as much as the effect did. Indeed, 
the question of money had begun to fret him from the first. 
Now he had a wife to keep and a cottage to pay the rent 
of, it was impossible for him to spend as much on hats and 
neckties, on showy trousers and on showier tan gloves, as he 
had been able to do when he was a jaunty bachelor and 
all that came out of his pocket he could spend freely on 
himself. 


WEDDED BLISS 


109 

As a consequence, Joe gradually began to get discontented. 
Although he had been married only a few months, he longed 
for a change of some kind — indeed, of any kind. He felt, 
however, that, above everything, he would prefer a change 
of scene : a new stage and a new audience, and new pro- 
perties*' throughout. Married life had entirely failed to 
satisfy his vanity : and his vanity was the tap-root of his 
nature, as we know. 

Presently it struck him that, if he could get an increase 
of wages, that might perhaps put matters right for him. 

So he went to Mr. Pengelly and asked, doubtfully, for 
a rise. 

"True,’* said the miller, when Joe broached the subject 
to him, "thy wages am’t enough for a marr-ried man to 
make a shaw on. That I awn to’ee, Joe, straight an* feer. 
But they’re all that I can give’ee : an* more than I can 
railly afford.” 

"A shillin’ a week extry, ef thee cud manage it . . .” 
began Joe, 

Caan’t afford it — tha’s a fact ! ” said the miller emphati- 
cally. "Ef thee left me to-morra — an* a likely man, like 
thee, may do so any day, 1 do knaw — I shud take on a 
bachelor, not anawther marr-ried man. An’ he’d ha* to be 
content weth less than I gi’ thee. I’m payin’ee railly more 
than I can afford, as it es. Ef it hadn' ben that thee’rt a 
new-marr-ried man,” he added ruminatingly, " b’leeve I shud 
ha* to make a change as it es.” 

Joe tugged at his moustache with a very glum look. 

I don’t ask’ee to lay ve, o* coorse not,” said the miller : 
but, railly, now . . . ef thee said thee wanted to go . . . well, 
I shudn’ ha’ the heart to ask’ee to stay. This esn* the place 
for a smart man like thee. Thee’rt wurth more than I can 
give’ee : that I admit. An’ thee wed get it, ef thee got thy 
deserts, Joe, man. Thee got wan o* the best headpieces in 
the parr-rish, I do knaw. But there’s no scope here for a 
clever man like thee.” 

"Tha’s true,” said Joe gloomily. "*Tes a li’l cramped 
place, hardly big enough to swing a cat in.” 


no 


EZEKIELS SIN 


‘^Why not try thy luck in America?” said the miller. 
" ’Tes a big place that. Plenty o’ room an’ plenty o’ money 
there for’ee, Joe.” 

"Tha’s true, too,” replied Joe meditatively. 

" I shud think so ! ” said the miller enthusiastically. 
" ’Tes the onnly place, b’leeve, to make a fortune in now-a- 
days. Look at Sam Hosken’s son — see the money he do 
send home ! An’ Bill Angove — weth his li’l shop up on the 
turnpike. The money for that come from America — an’ 
aisily amed, too. A man can make a fortune out there in 
no time. Here in this owld country he can barely arn his 
bread. But o’ coorse, we do all of us knaw,” he added, 
"that theell never think o’ layvin’ the country. We do 
knaw what ’tes — a young marr-ried man — thee’rt tied to 
the leg o* the table by a new pair o’ garters ! ” and the 
miller burst out laughing heartily. 

"Don’t knaw so much about that,” said Joe. 

" Thee don’t knaw : but I do,” said the miller. " Thee’rt 
like all young husbands — for the fust twelve months or so. 
Caan’t run farther than thy wife’s apron-strings ’ull let’ee ! ” 
and with that he laughed out heartily again. 

Don’t knaw so much about that, Mester Pengelly ! ” 
repeated Joe, with a touch of temper. 

"Why, ’tes ayven gittin’ a bit of a joke ’mong the 
maidens ’bout ’ee. ^ As soapy-soft as Joe Rosevear,’ I heerd 
wan o’ them say yesterday, ^ all’ys runnin ’ home to tie up 
his wife’s shoe-strings ! ’” 

Td go to America to-morra, ef I cud pay me passage ! ” 
said Joe angrily. 

"Well, man, ask thy faather-in-law to assist’ee.” 

Joe relapsed into gloomy silence. And with this the 
subject dropped. 


ANTICIPATIONS AND MEMORIES 


111 


CHAPTER XVII 

ANTICIPATIONS AND MEMORIES 

While Drusilla was thus paying for her experiences as a 
w'ife, and Joe was nursing his discontent and hungering 
restlessly for a change, the life in the cottage in the cove 
went on much the same as usual. 

Morvenna and the schoolmaster were now looked on by 
the folks in the cove as ^^reg’lar sweethearts, an’ a bra’ 
putty couple, too.” It was, of course, quite understood that 
Morvenna was too young to marry at present ; but her 
parents had given their consent to her being married when 
she was nineteen, and accordingly (to the girl’s satisfaction 
quite as much as to that of the schoolmaster) it was arranged 
that on Morvenna’s nineteenth birthday she should give 
herself to her sweetheart as his wife. They had, therefore, 
less than a couple of years to wait for their final happiness, 
and Morvenna had already begun quietly to make prepara- 
tions for it. 

The schoolmaster had given her an engagement ring 
and also a gold '^keeper,” and these she wore on her 
engagement finger” with a girlish pride that was de- 
lightful. Indeed, it was one of the fantastic pleasures of 
the lovers, for the schoolmaster, before the last kiss at 
parting, always to give a kiss to the little ringed finger: 
which, for that reason, was to Morvenna a symbol as precious 
as she could conceive of. 

The courting” of Morvenna by the schoolmaster, and 
her happy girlish response to it, was watched with kindly 
sympathy by most of the Polurrian folk. They had a great 
liking for the schoolmaster, in their hearty country fashion, 
and little Morvenna (though, of course, less of a public 
character, and, to that extent, less noticed by and less 
interesting to them) was frankly liked by them for her 
pretty freshness and her girlish modesty. 


112 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Two or three of the rougher ^^cove chaps/’ however, 
were by no means so well pleased by this appropriation of 
Morvenna : even though the girl was so gladly a party to 
it. And the youngster whose heart” was more particu- 
larly made sore, was especially eager to show his displeasure : 
not against Morvenna, whom he was shyly afraid of, but 
against that darned stuck-up schoolmaaster.” 

Talking over with this one, and that one, the possibility 
of paying out ” the schoolmaster, the youngster finally 
thought of sounding the pedlar on the subject, and found 
Tom the Hangman heartily willing to assist him. 

" Why not rull un ? ” quoth Tom the Hangman. 

^^Rull un.^ Wha’s that.^” asked the youngster, in sur- 
prise. 

The word is primarily a miner’s term — the lads in the 
mines who w^heel the barrows being spoken of as rollers ” 
— and the form of punishment it indicates, when used for 
this purpose, is more particularly indulged in among the 
mining communities. But the pedlar, in his wanderings to 
and fro in the peninsula, had come to know the mines of 
St. Just and St. Ives, and those at work near Marazion, 
with an intimate knowledge which very few peasants could 
boast of. And the customs, as well as the slang and phrases 
of the miners, were as familiar to him as were those of the 
widely differing fisher-folk. He was therefore prepared to 
coach” the youngster (or any one else) in rulling, or in 
any other form of mischief ; and he already licked his lips in 
anticipation of the fun. 

His explanation practically amounted to this : — 

When a young fellow is disappointed in obtaining the 
girl he has set his heart on, he sometimes gets together a 
band of youngsters like himself and arranges to ^^rull” 
his successful rival. The whole plot, of course, is kept 
strictly private. A wheelbarrow is borrowed from the mine, 
or from some friendly sympathiser ; a dark night is chosen, 
and a lonely spot ; and then the successful one is set on by 
the band of youngsters lying in wait for him, is bundled into 
the wheelbarrow and held down in it by main force, and 


113 


ANTICIPATIONS AND MEMORIES 

is wheeled to a convenient pond, in which he is ducked 
ummercifully.i 

Iss, that wed be something like fun ! ” cried the young- 
ster. " That wed take the starch out o’ Mester Stuck-up ! ” 
and he slapped his thigh delightedly, his face all a-grin. 
‘^He’d be ashamed to shaw his face in the cove agen, 
wedn’a?” 

" No doubt ! no doubt ! ” remarked the pedlar, sympa- 
thetically. 

"And Morvenna — she’d ha’ to give un up after that.^” 

" Iss, no doubt ! no doubt ! ” quoth the pedlar. 

"They usually do, s’pose — the girls.'*” questioned the 
youngster. , 

" Usually — iss ! ” said the pedlar, in his smoothest manner. 

" Ded’ee ever knaw a girl who dedn ’ } ” demanded the 
youngster. 

" Ever . . . well . . . ever es a long day, esn’t it i* Iss, I ded 
knaw of wan,'* said the pedlar. " But she was deffernt to the 
li’l wan thee just ben spaikin’ about. She had more of Owld 
Nick in her — an’ a temper as hot as fire.” 

" Ded they rull her shiner } ” 

"Iss, that they ded! I was in the parr-rish at the time 
— it happened ovver to Poljew — an’ I seed the fun from 
beginnin’ to end. Polly — Polly Townshend was her name, 
between ourselves — well, Polly she promised herself to wan 
o’ the miner chaps ; an* then, when he went off to America 
to make a fortune for her, she took up weth a li’l skinny 
schoolmaster: wan who come to the parr-rish after her 
shiner went away. Well, Tom Tregoning (that was the 
name of her shiner) after a time he come back agen right 
’nuff, an’ he found she an’ the li’l schoolmaster runnin’ round 
together an’ courtin’ an’ kissing all so hot as fire. So Tom 
he arranged weth some owld friends of his to gi’ the school- 

* Several cases of “ rulling ” have come under my personal know- 
ledge. The saddest I know of, in the life-tragedies it ultimately 
culminated in, occurred in a little mining village not five miles from 
the town of Penzance : the girl is now in a lunatic asylum, and the 
man is a helpless paralytic. 


H 


114 


EZEKIELS SIN 


maaster a rullin’ an’ make Polly knaw her place. Ezra Jacks 
was the schoolmaaster’s name, an’ a skinny wan he was — as 
thin as a scraped bone^ an’ weth a head as soft as a boiled 
turnip — an’ I tell’ee they managed it beautifully between 
them ! ” and the pedlar lingered over the word with evident 
gusto. “ All so saycret as sin it was kept, awin’ to Tom’s 
cleverness, so they caught the li’l skunk just outside o’ Poljew 
an’ tied un down in the barra (’cause he kicked-up such a 
dydo) 1 an’ then soused un in the hoss-pond ’tell you cud smill 
un a mile off ! Lord, how I ded laugh, when I seed Tom 
rullin’ un through the village ! The schoolmaster was as wet 
as a shag — weth his face as white as flour — an’ he was all 
ovver green slime an’ awther such muck, an’ they was singin’ 
away so hearty, Tom Tregoning an’ all of them : — 

^Wait for the wan-wheel, wait for the wan-wheel, 

Wait for the wan-wheel j an* you shall have a ride ! * ** 

The pedlar stopped to laugh and to linger over the re- 
miniscence, but the youngster yrged him on. ‘^^An’ the 
girl .?* ” he demanded breathlessly. What did she do, when 
she knawed of it, Tom ? ” 

Lord bless’ee,” laughed the pedlar, “ that was the best o’ 
the fun ! We rulled un up to her door, in the barra just as he 
was, an’, when we come to the door, Tom he rapped at it weth 
his knuckles, an’ ^ Oppen ! ’ says he ; ^ rve've brought thy shiner 
home fofee ! ’ An’ weth that we all of us bust out singin’ : — 

^ Wait for the wan-wheel, wait for the wan-wheel. 

Wait for the wan-wheel, an* you shall have a ridel* 

"Polly she come bouncin’ to the door in a tantrum, an’ 

^ What’ee want ? * she screamed, an’ hit Tom a slap in the face. 
She’d got a table-knife in her hand — ben cuttin’ bread an’ 
butter, s’ pose — an’ up at Tom she jumped, an’ tried to run 
un through. Tom, he jumped back, so brisk as a monkey^ 
an’ ^ Here ! we*ve brought* ee home thy shiner!* says he! ^ We 


^ An ado. 


ANTICIPATIONS AND MEMORIES 


115 


ben takin un for a ride in the wan-wheel coach / * An* weth 
that we all of us bust out agen : — 

^Wait for the wan-wheel, wait for the wan-wheel, 

Wait for the wan-wheel, an’ you shall have a ride!’ 

But Polly she screamed to us, ‘Stand away there, you fools !’ 
An’ up to the barra she runned an* beginned hackin’ at the 
ropes of it. ‘ Ef you touch me, any of ’ee,’ she screeched to 
us, ‘I’ll run the knife in’ee, as sure as God’s alive !* 

"Well, to tell’ee the truth, we dedn touch her — none of 
us. We cud see she was as mad as a wild cat an’ wed fight 
like wan ; an* she cut the ropes an’ bundled out Ezra an’ sot 
un on his feet and wiped his face for’n, all the same as ef 
(instead of his sweetheart) she was his mawther. 

“‘A fne shiner thee’st got there ! ’ Tom Tregoning he says 
to her. An*, weth that, the li’l devil up an* jumped at un 
weth a jab o* the knife ! An’ Tom he jumped back weth the 
blood skeetin’ ^ from his fingers : ‘ You darned li’l vixen ! * says 
he, ‘you’ve cut me hand oppen — cuss’ ee ! * 

"But Polly she pulled Ezra in an* slammed the fore- 
door 2 on us ; an’ off* we had to go weth the empty barra an* 
nawthin else.” 

“ An’ what happened then } Ded she marr-ry un ? ** 
asked the youngster breathlessly. 

“ Iss, that she ded ! the li’l pig-headed monkey ! Marr- 
ried by banns they was, too — as bold as lions ! Soon as the 
banns was out, they was marr-ried in the parr-rish church : 
an* then they went off saycretly, nowan knawed where — 
or, laysteways, nowan that cared to tell. I see’d them the 
same night, *tes true, but through a* accident. I happ'ened 
to have worked round agen to Poljew, an* was out slaipin* 
in me van on the bit o’ downses ^ thereabouts, an* I heerd 
a cart goin* by in the dead o* the night : so I peeped out 
an* I see’d Polly settin’ there in the cart humped up on 
the sait weth a shawl around her shoulders an* the li’l 


1 Spurting. 


2 Front door. 


* Downs. 


116 


EZEKIELS SIN 


palchyi schoolmaster settin ’longside her; an’ cryin’ she 
was, that bitter as ef her heart wed break.” 

"Ded’ee spaik to her.?*” 

^'No, you, I dedn’,” said the pedlar. 

I shud like to knaw how it all ended,” said the youngster, 
whose appreciation of the rulling, as a bit of revenge, was 
somewhat spoiled by the practical results of it. 

^^Well, sonny, tha’s all I knaw of it,” said the pedlar. 
^^She had her way, had Polly — bein’ so high-sperrited — 
an’ she got a sore heart ovver it, simminly. So — temper or 
no — the rullin’ done its work somehow.” 

Iss, Tom got his fun,” said the youngster, unconvinced : 
^^but the schoolmaster he got the girl all the same.” 

“Well, now, how about thy awn affair.^” quoth the 
pedlar. “Who’ll’ee git to help’ee.^ Le’s git on to that.” 
And he thereupon dragged the youngster headlong (so to 
speak) into discussing the scheme and how best it could be 
carried out. 

As soon as they heard of the proposed “bit of fun” 
others of the “cove chaps” agreed to join in, till presently 
half-a-dozen were banded together to see it through. 

But as the plot advanced from nebulous talk and frothy 
discussion towards the practical issues of when and where 
it was to be carried out, the courage of the youngsters 
wavered and their hearts began to fail them. 

Though it was not exactly in this way that they explained 
it to themselves, they were daunted by the strength of the 
schoolmaster’s personality, by the latent power that he im- 
pressed them as having at his command, and by their fear of 
the unknown — that bugbear of the peasant mind — fear of the 
uses he might make of the social life and the social forces 
that he was presumably in touch with through his educa- 
tion and his position generally. They were afraid of what 
he might do to them through the Wesleyan minister and 
the parson, and, most of all, through the mysterious “ Law ** 
and its effective agent the policeman. “’Tes darned risky 
to meddle with a man like he ! ” they agreed, wavering. 

1 Weak or sickly. 


ANTICIPATIONS AND MEMORIES 


117 


At this juncture, looking around for further confederates, 
they bethought them of the young fellow whose proposal 
to Morvenna to be her shiner had precipitated matters with 
the schoolmaster earlier in the year. It was known that 
Dick Laity had been ‘‘ geeking after ” ^ Morvenna, and the 
youngsters surmised that he would join in their scheme 
against the schoolmaster with a malicious relish as keen as 
their own. 

But Dick, when he heard of it, was on fire with indig- 
nation. He would take no part in it : he would rather lose 
a limb first ! 

The lad had really loved Morvenna — loved her still, 
though he had lost her. Indeed, Morvenna — now he felt 
her lifted out of his reach by her public engagement to a 
man like the schoolmaster — was, to Dick, something to be 
thought of with the shy, hidden fondness with which a 
lad here and there (and oftener than we give them credit 
for) will treasure up the memory of his first taste of senti- 
ment. Dick would not be a party to the humiliation of 
Morvenna’s hopes, or to the least affront to the happiness 
she evidently had found for herself, even if the indignity 
might have resulted in his gaining her for himself in the end. 
The lad had no command of language to find phrases for 
this feeling of his; but the feeling was in his heart: and 
he acted up to the promptings of it. 

As soon as he heard of the plot, Dick hurried to Ezekiel 
and told him all about it: and then asked him to warn 
the schoolmaster, as he didn’t like to do it himelf — the lad 
feeling a delicacy in broaching bluntly to an educated man 
a subject that necessarily must be so offensive to him. 

Ezekiel thanked Dick heartily, but was greatly angered 
at the news. He was in the middle of his tea, but he at 
once rose from the table, leaving the meal unfinished. 
Clapping on his hat, he tramped off heavily to the other 
cottages in the row to inform the fathers of the youngsters 
of the contemplated outrage. 

^ Looking after: used also as an equivalent for “trying to make 
up to.” 


118 


EZEKIELS SIN 


The other men were quite as wroth as Ezekiel : their 
respect for the schoolmaster, and their liking for little 
Morvenna, making them view the proposed insult with the 
angriest disapproval. 

The youngsters were accordingly informed by the men 
that, if they attempted to carry out the plot, or to molest 
the schoolmaster in any way, they would be thrashed un- 
mercifully by the men of the cove, and afterwards would 
be ‘‘ summoned (every one of them !) by the schoolmaster : 
their own fathers pledging themselves to give evidence 
against them. 

The youngsters — enraged on the surface, though secretly 
relieved in their hearts — would make no promises, in view 
of the threats thus launched at them. But all of them 
felt that the plot was now as good as dead and buried ; 
and they accordingly contented themselves by arranging to 

pay out ” Dick Laity by giving him a good larruping ” ^ 
at the earliest opportunity. 

[This intention — it may be here stated, in passing — they 
carried out, about a week later, to their entire satisfaction. 
Dick defended himself manfully, alone though he was, but 
before he managed to escape he had received a bad black 
eye and had had a couple of his front teeth knocked down 
his throat. He, however, kept the dastardly attack a 
secret. He seemed to think that, in a way, he had deserved 
it by splitting on them”; and he felt also that (vicari- 
ously) he was paying the forfeiture for Morvenna’s sweet- 
heart : an idea which, so far as he was able to grasp it 
(and this was merely as a sentiment and not as a matter of 
phrasing), afforded him a secret satisfaction that he chewed 
the cud of for weeks.] 


^ Good thrashing. 


THE HEART OF A GIRL 


119 


CHAPTER XVIII 

THE HEART OF A GIRL 

Morvenna, on hearing of the contemplated attack on her 
sweetheart, was thrown into a state of the greatest ex- 
citement. 

go up and tell him myself!” she cried anxiously 
to her father. ‘‘ I must go up, father I HeTl take it better 
from me, I know.” 

^Hss, le’ the cheeld go! she's right there,” remarked 
Malva. “ ’Tes an insultin’ thing to say to un : but he’ll 
take it all right from she.” 

So Morvenna hurried on her things and set off up the 
valley at a speed that was more like a run than a walk. 

The schoolmaster was strolling leisurely in the shadow 
of the hedgerows, his hands behind his back and a pipe in 
his mouth, and was greatly surprised at seeing Morvenna 
coming running towards him so excitedly. 

What’s the matter, my pet.^” he cried anxiously, pocket- 
ing his pipe and hastening towards her. 

Morvenna threw herself into his arms, and, laying her 
head on his shoulder, burst into a sudden hysterical fit of 
weeping. 

“What is it, my sweet he asked, with tender solicitude. 
“What has happened? — Come! tell me, my darling!” he 
continued coaxingly : kissing her on her lips, and on her 
eyes, and on her wet, girlish cheeks; his arms, the while, 
folded around her protectingly. 

Morvenna sobbed out her tale, brokenly and almost 
gaspingly : her voice half choked with tears, and her heart 
throbbing under her bodice, till he could feel it jumping 
against his side with quick, panting leaps that distressed 
him unbearably. 

“Never mind, my pet ! — Yes, yes, my sweetest ! — It’ll be 
all right, little one ! — Come, come, my darling, you mustn’t 
take it so to heart ! ” were some of the soothing exclamations 


120 


EZEKIELS SIN 


with which he tried to quiet her, as he kissed her quivering 
little lips and fondled her to him lovingly. 

" But . . . but, dear ... I can’t bear the thought of it ! 
sobbed Morvenna. It’s so wicked ! so cruel ! Oh, my 
dearest, they shan’t do it ! ’* And she clung to him ex- 
citedly : as if to protect his body with her own. 

^^No, no, my darling! it will be all right, you’ll find. 
They may talk — but they won’t venture to attempt it ! ’* 
remarked the schoolmaster. And she was aware of a note 
in his voice that* she had never heard there before. She 
had caught foreshadowings of it occasionally when he 
addressed some refractory scholar, but the full resounding 
strength of it, its ring of confident masterfulness, she had 
never before been thrilled by: and her heart rose in re- 
sponse to it. It was not only the quality, it was the 
pitch and intensity of the note that thrilled her: and the 
strength of it quieted her with the consciousness that she 
was in the arms of a very man ! 

She looked up at him with a deep trust and a tender 
love that were really beautiful. 

Oh, my dearest, how I love you ! ” she cried, clinging 
to him confidingly. 

" It is love for love, little one I You have all mine ! " 
said the schoolmaster tenderly. 

I know it ! I know it ! ” cried Morvenna, kissing him 
shyly. "And oh ! I’m so glad of it ! so proud of it, dear !” 
she whispered. 

She would leave the future in his hands trustfully : feeling 
assured that he would come triumphantly out of any, and 
every, ordeal. This was a man that she was in love with : 
and to her all things seemed possible to him. 

They walked down to the cove together through the 
moonlit beauty of the September night ; and when the 
schoolmaster finally handed over his little sweetheart to 
her mother, the girl’s heart was as full of happiness as a 
rose in its prime is full of perfume. And his good-night 
kiss to her on the cottage doorstep sent her to bed with 
the sweetest of dreams. 


ILLUSION AND DISILLUSION 


121 


That the malicious plot against her lover ended only 
in smoke, Morvenna never credited to the combined action 
of her old friends in the cove, or to the youngsters’ secret 
fear of the law and its agents. She put it down, joy- 
ously and triumphantly, to the manhood of her lover ; to 
the skulking cowardice of the plotters when they thought 
of confronting a veritable man ! 

The passion of her heart was not only its pride, it was 
its most preeious thing as well. Her love had received 
its conseeration : and closer than it was now to the hidden 
springs of her nature, it was doubtful if it could ever be 
— even when she was a wife. It might be richer in her 
blood then, when she was fashioning for a mother; but, 
as a shaping power in her thoughts and ideals, it was 
probably now at its height. 


CHAPTER XIX 

ILLUSION AND DISILLUSION 

The crabbing season, now drawing to a close, had been for 
Ezekiel a most unsuccessful one. He had done the worst 
of any of the crabbers in the cove : a result of which he 
firmly believed his sin to be the cause. 

There were times when Malva had been so sorely straitened 
that she had been tempted (almost to the point of yielding) 
to take some of the money out of the teapot. But she was 
a loyal wife : and would not do anything that she thought 
would harm Ezekiel. And she was as afraid of the money 
as if she believed that the coins were actually "ill-wished,” 
and therefore were bound to bring misfortune and possibly 
ruin to the spenders of them. 

Sometimes for more than a week there had not been in 
the cottage a bit of fresh meat ; and, on two distinct occa- 
sions, they had to do without sugar and butter as well. 
Even Morvenna, young and healthy as she was, had once 


122 


EZEKIELS SIN 


or twice shown signs of the sharp pinch in the cottage : and 
the schoolmaster, watching her with the keenness of love, 
began to have his suspicions as to the possible reason for 
her strange fits of lassitude. He accordingly made it a 
rule to propose a jaunt of some kind at every reasonable 
or convenient opportunity. The Saturday afternoons were 
now regularly granted to him for the full possession of 
Morvenna’s leisure, and at such times he usually took her 
to Penzance. Here he could always manage that they 
should have refreshments in one of the better-class eating- 
houses : and he was careful to see that the refreshments 
were as appetising and as substantial as his rather scanty 
means would permit. Nor did he ever bring Morvenna back 
from one of these jaunts without insisting on her taking 
home a present for her mother : now half a pound of tea, 
now a dozen fresh eggs ; once or twice it was a chicken ; 
and occasionally it was a rabbit, or a plump young duck. 
At first, Morvenna, shy and doubtful, had tried to object : 
but the schoolmaster claimed the right (he said to Morvenna 
fondly) to be to her mother, even now, the son he was to 
be to her in (so many) months — nineteen, eighteen, or what- 
ever the actual number might be — the lovers counting ojGT 
the months as if they were milestones on the road to 
Paradise. So Morvenna, loving him too whole-heartedly 
to mistrust his motives for a moment, yielded the point 
obediently and with a pretty grace that delighted him ; 
getting her payment on the way home in the shadow of 
the hedgerows, where the schoolmaster kissed the colour 
into her cheeks more than once. The precedent thus 
established, the schoolmaster took good care that it should 
not become obsolete : so that finally it came to be looked 
upon as quite a settled thing. On his own account, he 
always took Ezekiel some tobacco, which, also, he had 
established a prescriptive right to have accepted. And in 
this way he was able, without thrusting it on them offen- 
sively, to help Malva and Ezekiel (very slightly, it is true ; 
but, then, he would have done more for them had he dared) 
in some of the darkest hours that they had known in their 


ILLUSION AND DISILLUSION 123 

married life. As a consequence^ Morvenna almost worshipped 
her lover. She was so proud of him — not with the vulgar 
pride of ostentation, but with the deeper pride that hugs 
the treasured secret to the heart — that he filled her thoughts 
almost from morning till night, and went in and out of those 
sleeping thoughts or memories, her dreams, as freely and as 
freshly as the sea-air and the sunshine went in and out of 
the humble little cottage. 

Drusilla often laughed (though not, now, so maliciously) 
at Morvenna’s overbrimming love for the schoolmaster; which 
the girl could by no means disguise, though she tried to. 
But Morvenna was too happy to mind a little teasing, and 
too sweet-natured to resent it at any time. Once a week, 
regularly, Drusilla came down to see her mother: Malva 
finding the walk to Choone bottoms and back, a more tiring 
jaunt than she altogether cared for. On this weekly visit, 
Morvenna always walked back to Drusilla’s cottage with 
her : sometimes meeting her sister returning as she herself 
was coming from school, but more often finding her still 
down with Malva, the two gossiping together cosily over a 
quiet cup of tea. 

These weekly walks to Drusilla’s cottage were the sisters’ 
great time for such confidences as they indulged in, and 
Drusilla could not help feeling a little envious of her 
sister, when she contrasted Morvenna’s deep, confiding 
happiness with her own disappointments and grievances 
against Joe. 

Determined to find in her own memories some parallel 
to this gladness — on the principle that our possessions and 
experiences prove to demonstration that we are the micro- 
cosm we think ourselves ; and that neither in memories, 
or in knowledge, are we worse off than our neighbours — 
Drusilla had to fall back on the reminiscences of her first 
courting. That girlish experience wdth Robert Pengelly 
was her first taste of sentiment : and it remained still the 
sweetest ; as she frankly admitted to herself. 

Having once started piquing these old memories into 
life, in order to contrast them with and measure them 


124 


EZEKIELS SIN 


against Morvenna's, Drusilla began to find the game a 
strangely fascinating one : the element of danger that she 
was aware of in it, being part of its piquancy. 

The remembrance of moonlight strolls and of long sweet 
talks in the shadow of the hedgerows^ of hot cheek pressed 
against hot cheek passionately, and of lips that clung 
together with a hunger that seemed insatiable — these 
were by no means a diet that a woman like Drusilla could 
venture to feed upon too often and too greedily. 

In spite of the expectancy of motherhood which kept 
her pulse dancing, the lingering over these memories 
became perilously pleasant to her ; and the thought of 
Robert Pengelly with his arm around her, and with her 
head resting on his shoulder as it had done when she was 
a girl, became so familiarised to Drusilla’s imagination that, 
if she had suddenly waked up from one of these reve- 
ries and had found the miller^s arm actually around her 
waist, it is doubtful if she would even have pretended to 
be surprised. 

The miller, however, after his failure to get a kiss from 
her at the wedding-supper — a rebuff to which both of them 
had attached a significance not apparent on the surface — 
had not troubled to put himself often in her way. He 
spoke to her, it is true, when he met her, and sometimes 
chatted with her for a minute or two ; once he had called 
at the cottage to give Joe a forgotten order; and once he 
had talked with her at the garden-gate for perhaps five 
minutes. But this fragmentary intercourse (if one wished 
to find a reason for it) might be considered due to Drusilla 
living now on the high-road — a route the miller was fre- 
quently traversing in attending to his affairs — and to her 
husband coming and going daily between the cottage and 
the mill, which were distant from each other barely ten 
minutes’ walk. In the cove, Drusilla was so entirely out 
of the miller’s world that, to see her there and chat with 
her, it would have required that he should have sought her 
of deliberate purpose. Here, so close to the mill, and in the 
very highway of his daily life, he could pass and chat with 


ILLUSION AND DISILLUSION 125 

her as an acquaintance as often, practically, as he chose. 
That he met her so seldom, under the circumstances, and 
chatted with her so indifferently, seemed to prove . . . but 
why should she seek to make it prove anything? Why 
should he remember their old courting days? Or, why 
should she, for that matter? He was nothing to her (of 
course not !) now she was a married woman. And she was 
nothing now to him : or, at least, only his old sweetheart. 
She had become the wife of his waggoner, and must content 
herself with that. 

Yet — ^and here was the critical point of the situation — 
supposing she were not content, and, what was more, would 
not try to be ? 

Here was Joe treating her with the grossest selfishness, 
and with a want of courtesy so glaring — seeing how young 
and new a wife she was — that he hurt her vanity almost 
every hour of the day. And the pretty coaxing ways in 
which she would have liked to be petted, were simply con- 
spicuous by their absence, so far as her husband was con- 
cerned. Indeed, there was nothing but the satisfaction in 
her blood to bring her gladness. And, even for Drusilla, 
this was not quite sufficient. The woman’s nature was not 
unlike the outward mask of it. The well-rounded bust, the 
luxuriance and softness of the hair, the easily coming blushes, 
the love of fondling and being fondled, they all had their 
share in the warm abundance that so agreeably characterised 
it. But there was in her, as well, a kind of hungry sensi- 
bility — at least, on certain sides, where she was as flexible 
as she was vain — and a keen appetite for pleasure (as far as 
her conceptions of pleasure went) that was always urging 
her along the lines where the satisfactions of it might be 
looked for. To glance at her face, with its sensuous feminine 
attractiveness, was to many men to be tempted (almost 
daringly) to kiss it : the latent note and the underlying 
hints of the features seeming to suggest that the temptation 
would be met more than half-way. 

As the schoolmaster, when Morvenna was at Drusilla’s 
cottage, always came to fetch her and to take her home. 


126 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Drusilla saw more of him now than she had ever seen before. 
And when he came for Morvenna, he was so courteous and 
tender towards her, as if she were something exceedingly 
precious to him, that Drusilla was frankly envious of her 
sister: not exactly wanting Morvenna’s sweetheart for her- 
self, but wishing, at any rate, that she had gained one 
like him. 

Drusilla tried to imagine her sister as the schoolmaster’s 
young wife, and she thought how tenderly, lovingly proud 
of her he would be. It made her heart sore (as well as 
envious) to think of the contrast between such a life and 
her own. She wanted to be treated as she knew Morvenna 
would be treated under the circumstances ; wanted to be 
petted, caressed lovingly, wrapped round in every fondling 
way, with the proud tenderness of a man who could fill a 
woman’s thoughts with gladness as easily as the most selfish 
of them could fill her veins with fire. 

To expect that Joe would ever quicken her life with such 
happiness, she knew now was to expect a thing frankly 
incredible. 

How, then, could she be content ! She simply would not 
try to be. 

If she had married Robert Pengelly when the wine of 
youth was in their veins, such happiness might have been 
possible for her — would have been hers beyond a doubt ! 
And even if, at the present moment, she w'ere the miller’s 
wife, instead of Joe’s, surely the fire of passion would burn 
through them as it used to do ! she would know what it 
was to be glad and to leap with pleasure, not in one way only 
(and that the cheapest) but in all ! 

When Joe told her he had asked for a rise and the miller 
had refused him, Drusilla was at first angrier in the secret 
theatre of her thoughts than she was in the open-air world 
of her daily interests. She thought, surely the miller, if 
he cared anything for her, might have done her this small 
kindness and have been none the worse for it. But when 
Joe went on to tell her of the miller’s suggestion that he should 
emigrate, she fancied she saw here the tentative first move 


ILLUSION AND DISILLUSION 127 

towards an understanding ; a sign that his interest in her had 
awakened, and that he wanted to clear the way to her. 

She did not resent the idea in the least. On the contrary, 
she welcomed it with a shiver of delicious fear. To be 
besieged, however hotly, was not necessarily to surrender. 
After all, if they should drift into a flirtation, she would be no 
worse than other women — scores of them, probably. Besides, 
Robert was no stranger. Had he not kissed her before, and 
been the first one to do so } His right to her lips, in the 
Court of Sentiment, seemed to be quite as great as Joe’s. 

It was a perilous point to argue : but she argued it out to 
her satisfaction. She decided that she was not afraid, and 
was ready for the attack. 

Of this mood of Drusilla, Morvenna caught occasional 
glimpses. But only on the side of its restlessness and 
discontent, and its hunger for something that (so far) it had 
failed to attain. That her sister’s thoughts turned towards 
the miller with such a flush of hot passion in them, Mor- 
venna was entirely ignorant of, and would not have believed 
had she been told of it. None the less, she considered it 
dangerous for a woman like her sister to be so persistently 
belittling her husband and asserting that she was dis- 
appointed in him. And once Drusilla (though in this 
instance she had no concealed meaning) had made a remark 
about the schoolmaster that Morvenna frankly did not like : 
exclaiming hotly, on finding him kissing Morvenna at the 
door, ^^Thee seem to find them so good, Morvenna, I shud 
like to have wan to sample ! Wish I cud git such a lovely 
lot as thee do ! ” 

^^For shame, Drusilla!” Morvenna had said to her, 
greatly scandalised. 

Why ‘for shame ’ } Where’s the shame of it ? ” quoth 
Drusilla. “ I said, I shud like to sample them ; iss ! an’ I 
shud — there now ! ” 

“ For shame, Drusilla ! ” 

^^Well, ’tes the truth, anyway,’* insisted Drusilla. 

But Morvenna, though she was silent, retained her 
opinion all the same. 


128 


EZEKIEVS SIN 


CHAPTER XX 
A LONELY MAN 

The last Saturday in September, Ezekiel took up and 
brought in his crab-pots. 

It was a wet, squally, cloudy day ; there was a treacherous, 
shifty disquiet in the sea; and the thin driving spray was 
being blown about freely. Everywhere the world was full of 
querulous unrest: not the menacing sound and motion of a 
gale, but the shrill whistling and hooting clamour of the 
squall, and the brief spurts of its cloud-chasing, wave-troubling 
bluster. 

The rain crackled against the window-panes of the 
cottages in the cove as the gusts drove the sudden showers 
peltingly against them, and the great swooping rush of the 
wind across the valley made the women-folk congratulate 
themselves that they were safe indoors : the occasional hoot- 
ing in the chimney, the dreary whooing across the roof, the 
loud angry rattling of the windows and doors, the flames 
spurting from the turf fires and the smoke puffing out 
thickly, all accentuating indoors the turmoil and bluster that 
prevailed without. 

Out in the bay, Ezekiel’s little boat was tossed up and 
down on the short, choppy waves with a motion that, from 
the shore, looked most perilous to its occupant. But the 
crabber had weathered in her rougher and wilder days than 
this, and he worked his way to his " strings ” of pots, one 
after the other, not as rapidly, but still as steadily, as if it 
were a windless day in June. 

Ezekiel had about sixty pots "down’' in the bay — dis- 
tributed in eight "strings,” at as many diff*erent stations — 
and owing to the squalls, and the treacherous tumbling seas, 
he calculated that practically it would take him all the day 
to get in his pots and land them safe at the cottage. He 
could not venture to take in the boat, under the present 


A LONELY MAN 


129 


circumstances, more than about half-a-score pots at a time, 
and that would mean half-a-dozen journeys to and from the 
cove, with a troublesome landing on the beach at the end of 
each journey. He accordingly made up his mind for a hard 
day’s work : indeed, if the morrow had not been Sunday, and 
the weather so unsettled and with a threat of worse mischief 
in it, he would have spread the task over a couple of days. 
As matters stood at present, however, to postpone the task 
was impossible. After a good deal of trouble, he had got a 
berth on one of the pilchard-drivers in Newlyn, and on 
Monday morning he must duly be on board to take his place. 
It was only because of his exceeding ill-luck, that he had 
kept his pots out up to the last moment like this. But, 
with times so hard as they were, he had to make the most 
of every opportunity. His Michaelmas rent was just due — 
it was a shilling a week, thirteen shillings a quarter — and 
though he could pay this out of Morvenna’s quarter’s salary, 
he had hoped this time to let her have the money for 
clothes, which she certainly needed now she had a sweet- 
heart, and he a man like the schoolmaster. So deadly, how- 
ever, had been the hostility of Fate, that, during the last 
few weeks, he had barely been able to keep food in the 
cottage, and to save money for the rent had been a sheer 
impossibility. 

It was only a part of the payment that was to be wrung 
out of him, no doubt. But, none the less, he found the 
payment a hard one. And the exaction of it was charac- 
terised by a cruelty that made him wince. 

Nearly six months had passed since the day of his sin, 
and, in the interval, Ezekiel had aged with extreme 
rapidity. 

His hair and beard, which, on the afternoon of his tempta- 
tion, were thick, if grey — as thick as those of a man of forty 
— were now white and thin, and the top of his head was 
almost bald. The wrinkles in his face, too, had increased 
almost tenfold ; and the man had begun to stoop, and to 
hang his head so weakly, that his shoulders had curved 
over till they were rounder than a cobbler’s. His very walk 

I 


130 


EZEKIELS SIN 


had grown heavier^ less elastic and weaker. Occasionally, 
too, he was aware of other disquieting symptoms : an odd 
weakness of his eyesight, which was sometimes unsteady, 
sometimes dim ; moments of rigidity in the limbs, when he 
was strongly excited, or was startled suddenly ; and a 
fluttering loss of self-control that at times troubled him to 
the pitch of fright. 

He believed firmly in his mind that these changes were 
not natural, but were merely a part of the punishment he 
would have to suffer for his sin. And, under the weight of 
this belief, he staggered helplessly, and almost hopelessly, 
along the dreary road of life : with nothing to look forward 
to except the black pit of death — which he knew well waited 
at the end of the road for him. 

Twelve months ago, Ezekiel had got a berth on a pilchard- 
boat without difficulty : he looked then hale and hearty 
enough to do his work with ease. But this year he had 
found things altogether different. It w^as only by the 
skin of his teeth ” that he had obtained a berth at last : and, 
even then, it was in a boat, and under a man, that twelve 
months ago he would scarcely have looked at. 

Indeed, he looked so frail and, withal, so old, that it 
seemed to be quite possible that this would be the last 
season he would be accepted for the fishery : unless some- 
thing of the nature of a miracle .should happen, to stay the 
hands on the dial for him, or even turn them back. But 
the days of miracles, Ezekiel knew, were past. The great 
Miracle Worker had long ago been tortured to death on 
Calvary, and no one now would work a miracle to gladden 
a sinner, even if it were possible. 

He must endure his doom, and the gloom of it, as best 
he could. 

If, only, others might not suffer for the sin as well as 
himself ! 

As he rowed from one "string” of pots to another, 
Ezekiel’s heart seemed to be as cold and as heavy as the 
stones with which the dripping crab-pots were weighted. 
And his trips to and from the cove, with the boat loaded 


A LONELY MAN 


131 


with the empty pots, were performed with the dreariest lack 
of interest imaginable. 

Rarely had he known a season in which he had had worse 
luck : and never had he closed a season more dispiritedly. 

He wondered whether that other man ” were dogged 
with misfortune as he was. And he wondered, also, how 
much (or how little) his fellow-sinner felt the burden of 
the wrongdoing that had separated them from their kind. 

Could he see that other man," if only for a moment, 
Ezekiel thought it would ease his heart : he would feel less 
solitarily accursed. Yes ! on the day that he should meet 
him in the flesh, Ezekiel almost fancied that he might even 
be glad. 

As he made his way from station" to '^station," and 
from these to the shelter of the cove and back again, he 
was so drenched by the driving spray and the sudden heavy 
showers, and so beaten and buffeted by the vehement gusty 
squalls, that, in spite of his sou’wester and his suit of oil- 
skins, Ezekiel felt wet and cold all over. His fingers were 
almost numbed into lifelessness by handling the wet lines 
and the dripping crab-pots : and the boat had always a 
pool of water gathering between the foot-boards, owing to 
the rain and the spray and the leakings from the pots ; 
so that every time he reached the shore and landed his 
shipment, he had to bail out the boat before he could start 
again. 

It was tiring work for an ageing man, enfeebled and alone : 
and Ezekiel found himself thinking how different things 
might have been if his two sons now w'ere alive to help him. 
They would have been men by this time ; perhaps might 
have been married like Drusilla. But then, they would 
have been sons! they would have been bread-winners like 
himself : and all, in any case, could have worked together 
and helped each other. No doubt, whatever had happened, 
they would have been kind to little Morvenna. The ‘‘ piggy- 
widden ’’ of the family, and that a girl, they would have been 
as proud of as most brothers were, in decent families. And 
then . . . then . . . that sin of his would never have been 


132 


EZEKIELS SIN 


committed ! There would have been no temptation to 
assail him — with her brothers kind to little Morvenna. And 
without the temptation in that form. . . . He sighed heavily 
and dismally. 

The weary "might have beens** of life — what tragedies 
lie behind them ! The agonies of hell, it is possible, may 
be more poignant : but more hopelessly, drearily sad they 
cannot be. 

From mournful thoughts like these, he fell naturally to 
musing on the drowned man he had abandoned. The man 
who had thrust his dead body under the crabber s notice, 
that Ezekiel, in his brotherly kindness, might reclaim it for 
humanity; might snatch it out of the maw of the unquiet 
sea that had murdered him and give it burial in the quiet 
earth, where its brothers slept in peace. In that hour of 
temptation, however, the crabber had been without mercy. 
He had abandoned the body carelessly to the monster that 
had murdered it : hut its treasures he had secured and had 
retained for his own uses. 

Yes ! they were robbers both of them. The sea had 
robbed him of his life : and Ezekiel had robbed him of 
his money. Which ought he to hate most, and with the 
deadliest malignity } 

It was a question Ezekiel had puzzled over, in a dim and 
helpless way, hundreds of times since that fatal afternoon. 

That the dead have power to molest the living — to 
injure them, if not openly, on the public highway and in the 
market-place, at least, in the secret and hidden byways 
of life — Ezekiel believed firmly : he had never for one 
moment doubted it. And, vaguely in his mind, he had 
the conception of the devil and the dead man, and Fate 
as their minister, watching him day and night tirelessly 
and pursuing him relentlessly : pursuing him with unresting 
feet that only God Himself 'could stay. 

He looked abroad, and the world seemed as though 
gloomed over with his secret anxieties. Great dusky cloud- 
shadows had began to move darkly across the troubled 
plain of waters, and against the slate-grey sky and the 


A LONELY MAN 


133 


leaden-grey sea the gulls (drifting along in the track of 
a sun-ray) seemed like drifting flakes of foam — their wings 
whiter than milk. Then a huge mass of rain-clouds came 
sailing up rapidly, and, in a space measured by seconds, 
had entirely blotted out the sky. The outer march of 
the Channel was now dabbled all over with white dancing 
wave-tops, thicker and whiter than a flock of gulls. Almost 
immediately, the gusts of wind began to lengthen and 
strengthen, and a sudden fierce squall swept blusteringly 
across the bay, filling the air with its strenuous commotion. 
Down beat the rain with a tempestuous rush and gush — 
a pelting, stinging onslaught that almost blinded Ezekiel — 
and then, of the hurrying cloud, but just now so huge, 
nothing seemed to be left but a few shreds and tatters 
that melted away, vanished mysteriously, and once more out 
came the sun. 

The deep, melancholy cry of the sea now again filled 
the air without rival or pause : the ceaseless gusty whist- 
ling of the wind, and even the heaving tolling of the bell 
on the Runnelstone, seeming, by comparison, infinitely less 
impressive. 

Hour after hour, the loneliness and savagery of the 
scene seemed, if possible, to deepen and to be accentuated 
menacingly. And to and fro, through the tumbling seas, 
Ezekiel toiled with his loads of crab-pots, till his fingers 
were numbed and stiffened cruelly by the stinging rain and 
the cutting blasts, and the blood in his veins chilled almost 
as drearily. 

Presently, however, about half-an-hour before sunset, 
Ezekiel got the last load of pots in his boat, and turned her 
head homeward with a sense of deep relief. 

The cliff-fronts and ledges were crowded with gulls and 
cormorants ; and even on the skerries, where the impetuous, 
rushing swing of the weaves made a jabble of water whose 
white turmoil was almost appalling, the herring- gulls and 
shags were congregated in clusters. The rocks, the faces 
of the cliffs, the boulders on the beach, were edged and 
dabbled over with yeasty clumps of foam; and on the 


134 


EZEKIELS SIN 


beach, at the edge of the breaking waves, long thick 
swathes of this blubber-like drift lay shaking tremulously in 
the tireless wind. A few gulls were still pecking along the 
sands, and the air was full of brine and of the keen tang 
of the seaweed. It was just such an evening as Ezekiel 
would have relished greatly, years ago. But to-day its fret 
and turmoil made him doubly querulous. He was wet and 
cold and tired : he felt old and feeble and depressed. 

He was glad the season was over : he wished it were the 
last season he would have to toil through. 

He longed hungrily, almost savagely, for Death to lay 
its hand on him. Then would he be healed with the deep 
healing that only Death has the skill of: then would he 
be quieted with the great peace there is none but Death 
can give. 


CHAPTER XXI 

SIDELIGHTS 

There was a heavy storm all day on the Sunday, but by 
midnight it had entirely blown itself out. By the time 
Ezekiel was astir on the Monday morning, the sun was just 
rising in a blaze of dazzling splendour, and the world was 
full of the refreshing sweetness and the sense of exquisite 
cheer that follow after a storm at the beginning of autumn. 
The wind and the rain had swept over everything, but 
they had left the valley still green and with a touch 
of its summer bravery, and with an echo, if no more, of 
its old ravishment of song. Among the thorn-trees near 
the stream the robins sang briefly, the finches made a 
breezy lilt of music in the furze-brakes, and where the 
great ripening flag-pods (now turning brown) rose above 
the thinner shafts of the rushes the chit, chitty, chit ! of the 
little sedge-warbler was repeated over and over garrulously, 
as if the bird would never tire. The swallows were twitter- 
ing as they wheeled across the valley, their steel-blue backs 


SIDELIGHTS 


135 


glinting in the sunshine^ and the skylarks sang and sang 
again blithely, their rippling gaiety — like the sparkles of 
sunlight on the grass-blades — seeming to emphasise the 
delicious buoyancy of the mood to which, however tempo- 
rarily, Nature had returned. 

When Ezekiel, with his provision-bag and his sea-boots 
slung across his shoulder, started for Newly n about eight in 
the morning, Morvenna also set out with him. She had 
arranged to accompany him to the head of the valley (where 
the turnpike-road met the lane leading to Polurrian), and 
then turn back and huriy on to school, which she would still 
be able to reach at her regulation time. 

Isaac Roscorla was at his cottage door smoking his pipe, 
when Ezekiel and Morvenna, with Malva in the rear, came 
out on the doorstep just as the clock was striking eight. 
Isaac, though he was about two years older than Ezekiel, 
looked the others junior by half-a-dozen years, and, as 
he stood here smoking this September morning, Malva 
wished her man were as fortunate as his neighbour. For 
Isaac had a couple of sons on the fishing-boats, and with 
their assistance, and his own modest success in the past, he 
had been able to give up going on the great fisheries of the 
bay for the last four or five years — to Malva’s secret envy. 

" Off, then, 'Zekiel ? quoth Isaac, between his puffs. 

Iss, you : no help for it,” replied Ezekiel. 

^^Well, good luck to’ee !” 

Thaank’ee ! ” said Ezekiel. 

Still, Fm sorry "tes so,” added Isaac sympathetically 
as he glanced at the white hair and beard and the bent 
shoulders of his old neighbour. Look as though thee want 
rest more’n I do.” 

Iss, faather s failin' badly,” remarked Malva sorrowfully. 
“ He do want rest more than any o’ we : ’tes whisht to see 
how fast he’s ageing. But rest he caan’t have, simminly,” 
she added : ^"such poor luck as we do git in thaise days.” 

Isaac shook his head : but made no remark. The money 
spent on Drusilla’s finery, and on her subsequent wedding, 
would have been much better saved against such times as 


136 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


these, he thought. Having never had a daughter, he had 
little sympathy with girls, the queer " run ” of whose nature 
he had almost forgotten in the course of years — so far distant 
in the past lay the days when he went courting and had 
tried timidly to feel his way to the secrets of a girl’s heart. 

^^Well, good mornin’ to’ee, Isaac!” said Ezekiel, nodding 
to his old neighbour. 

“ Good mornin* ! an’ good luck to’ee ! ” repeated Isaac, 
waving his hand. 

And, with that, Ezekiel set off, with Morvenna at his side. 

As they were walking up the lane, they saw the school- 
master standing at his garden-gate quietly enjoying his after- 
breakfast pipe. 

If you will wait three minutes for me. I’ll walk up with 
you, if you’ll let me,” he remarked to Morvenna and her 
father, when he heard whither they were bound. 

Morvenna glanced at her father, her delight visible in 
her eyes. 

"Iss, sir, we shall be glad o’ thy company,” replied 
Ezekiel. 

Come in and pick a few flowers for yourself, Morvenna ! 
said the schoolmaster, inviting them into the little garden. 
And with that he hurried indoors to get his hat. 

'^That’s right, Morvenna! You look real bonny with 
that in your bodice ! ” he remarked, smiling into the girl’s 
blue eyes, as he emerged from the cottage and found her 
with a spray of honeysuckle in her dress. "And, now, 
before we start,” said he to Ezekiel, ^Get us fill up our pipes 
and make ourselves comfortable.” And he produced a well- 
filled tobacco-pouch and handed it to the crabber. 

Five minutes afterwards, they were on their w^ay up the 
valley, the two men — with their pipes well-alight and draw- 
ing freely — tramping along one on either side of Morvenna ; 
the girl walking between them elastically, with the blossom- 
ing honeysuckle in her bodice and with the sweet September 
sunshine (or was it something still sweeter .^) dancing in her 
eyes as blithely as it was dancing in her heart. 

Thick, dense patches of dwarf gorse (so crowded with 


SIDELIGHTS 


137 


blossoms that the calyxes had scarcely room to open) lighted 
up the banks with their vivid belts of gold, and the low'er 
slopes of the hills were so sheeted with heather that the 
millions of purple blossoms, massed together in the distance, 
left the impression that the hills were splashed with huge 
red stains. The vermilion of the countless haws, the misty 
purple of the sloes, and the glistening black of the great 
bunches of elder berries, filled the hedgerows themselves 
with an effective wealth of colour, which, autumnal though 
its suggestions were, was still a pleasure to the eye. And 
all about the trio, as they walked up the valley, the martins 
were wheeling by scores, almost by hundreds : flying so 
low, and at the same time drifting so close to them, that 
Morvenna, as the birds darted to and fro in front of her, 
almost felt as if she could thrust out her hand and catch 
them easily. 

It was a very pleasant walk ; and though the talk was 
all on the surface, and drifted from one thing to another 
almost as aimlessly and irresponsibly as the martins wheeled 
and drifted around the talkers, still Ezekiel began presently 
to feel its very idleness as a relief ; while the schoolmaster, 
having Morvenna at his side to talk to, found in that a 
sufficient happiness, and was as contented as he could be. 

At last they came to the highway where Ezekiel had 
to leave them. 

Good-bye, father ! I shall come to meet you on Satur- 
day,’* said Morvenna, kissing his bearded face affectionately. 

Good-bye, me dear ! Good mornin’ to’ee, sir.” 

“ Good morning, Mr. Trevaskis : and the best of luck to 
you ! ” said the schoolmaster heartily. 

And off Ezekiel plodded, with his provision-bag and his 
pair of heavy sea-boots slung across his shoulders, and seem- 
ing almost to weigh him down. 

Drusilla was standing at the door as Ezekiel approached 
her cottage, and, on seeing him, she at once came out into 
the roadway. 

Joe’s goin’ in to Newlyn fust thing this mornin’: hope 
he’ll meet’ee an’ give’ee a lift,” she remarked. 


138 


EZEKIELS SIN 


It’ll be all right, me cheeld : I can do the distance 
aisy/* 

"Still, a lift waan*t do*ee no harm,** said Drusilla, who 
was really sorry to see how worn and old her father looked, 
as he stood here with the sunshine on his thin white hair and 
his shoulders bending wearily under their weight. " Here ! 
wait a minute ! I’ll put on me hat an’ run round an’ spaik 
to Joe.” And she went in and fetched her hat, returning 
almost immediately ; not, however, without a glance in the 
bedroom looking-glass, in order to see that she was present- 
able if she should chance to meet any one — the miller, or 
anybody else, she thought, smoothing down her apron. 

Closing the cottage door behind her, she walked along 
with her father to the small belt of trees that rose ahead 
of them on the right-hand side of the roadway. The mill 
and the mill-house were hidden among these : but in a few 
minutes they were so close to them (so short was the dis- 
tance) that they could plainly see the slated roof of the 
mill and the pigeons that were preening themselves on it 
in the sunshine. 

Joe had just finished taking in a load of flour and 
was now receiving some last instructions from the miller; 
the two men standing at the tail of the waggon talking 
together. 

When Drusilla explained to Joe that Ezekiel was tramp- 
ing in to Newlyn and that she wanted Joe to give him a 
lift, the carter at once expressed his readiness to do so. 
And the miller, coming forward, called out heartily, "Iss, 
o’ coorse ! weth pleasure ! Start to wance, Joe. Never 
mind that awther matter ; anawther time’ll do for that. 
Mornin*, Mrs. Rosevear ! ” he added, turning to Drusilla. 

" Good mornin*, Mr. Pengelly,” replied Drusilla, with 
her " company manners ’* ; blushing vividly, however, in 
spite of herself. And she instinctively put her hand to her 
hat to straighten it. 

"Here, Joe !’* said the miller, calling the waggoner aside 
to the door of the mill. " Now’s thy time, man ! Thee 
waan’t git a better chaance this side o’ Chresmas. See ef 


SIDELIGHTS 


139 


thee can git un in the mind to pay thy passage to America 
for’ee. Look here ! ” he added, in a sudden burst of gene- 
rosity, the sight of Drusilla, in her morning freshness and 
with that blush on her face, having somehow set his pulse 
stirring strangely, '^darned ef I waan’t do’ee a kindness, 
man ! Shaan’t be the loser by it in the end, I do knaw. 
Ef thy faather-in-law ’ull give’ee ten pounds towards thy ex- 
penses, ril advaance’ee five pounds out o’ me awn pocket — 
there ! ” 

Es it a bargain ? ” said Joe. 

"’Tes God’s truth ! ” said the miller. 

Blest ef I don’t tackle un, then ! ” Joe cried, excitedly. 

Right thee are ! Thee’ll never get a better opportunity. 
Make the most of it, man ! Mind ! ten from the owld man 
— an’ then five pounds from me ! Now, off thee go ! Don’t 
keep un waitin’. Cornin’ in to see the mill, Mrs. Rosevear ? ” 
he remarked to Drusilla. Thee never seen it afore, b’leeve ; 
have’ee ” he added. 

^^Iss, you,” said Joe, flattered by the attention to his 
missus,” take a look round now thee’rt here, Drusilla. 
’Tes wuth seein’ : ef thee never see’d such a place afore.” 

Drusilla stood hesitating. 

"Well, I don’t mind ef I do, now I’m here. Good 
mornin’, father ! ” she called up to Ezekiel, who was in the 
waggon. 

"Good mornin’, me cheeld ! good mornin’ !” said Ezekiel, 
nodding to her. 

And out into the highway Joe drove, cracking his whip 
loudly. 

When the waggon had gone, Mr. Pengelly took Drusilla 
into the mill and showed her over it with a lingering care, 
and with a close attention to her personal safety, that was 
just a little dazing and bewildering to her. 

He pointed out to her the huge mill-stones grinding away 
noisily and making the floor shake with their heavy revolu- 
tions, and then he took her (so carefully !) up the steep 
stairway that led to the floor above, where the hoppers 
were located. 


140 


EZEKIELS SIN 


As he showed her the corn sliding with treacherous slow- 
ness through the hoppers — the yellow mass pouring steadily 
downwards towards the ponderous stones that they could 
hear grinding away so heavily under their feet — the miller 
held out his strong brown hand to grip hers^ and to steady 
her as she nervously looked down into the hoppers. And 
Drusilla, bewildered and a little frightened by the noise and 
the strangeness, immediately surrendered her hand to his 
clasp ; her pulse beating with an excited rapidity that he 
might interpret as he pleased. 

The miller held her hand carefully until she had descended 
again to the floor where the great stones were revolving 
noisily, and then, as she drew it out of his with an apologetic 
timidity (as if unwilling to withdraw it with an abruptness 
that might offend him) she drooped her eyes and blushed 
hotly, turning away her face as she smoothed her apron 
nervously. 

And, with that, into the miller’s eyes there flashed some- 
thing of the old restless fire that had filled them so often 
in the courting-days which he now remembered so vividly — 
remembered, hoping the while, as the memory gripped him 
disquietingly, that Drusilla remembered them as vividly as 
himself. 

’Most like owld times, esn’t it, Drusilla } ” he ventured. 

Don’t knaw about that — ’tes so long ago,” said Drusilla, 
her voice trembling, in spite of herself, as she leaned against 
some sacks. So strangely excited as she was she had not 
been for years : her eyes glittered and her cheeks were as 
full of colour as a girl’s. 

The miller, too, was aware of a peculiar disturbance and 
unrest. ^^All this might ha’ ben thine, ef we’d stuck 
to ayche awther,” said he. 

Drusilla felt a sense of perilous pleasure that made her 
pulse leap strangely. 

“ Iss, we ought to ha* made a match of it — thee an* me, 
Drusilla.” 

"But we dedn’ : so there’s a’ end of it,” replied Drusilla 
shortly. 


SIDELIGHTS 


141 


** Tve regretted it sence — often ! ** said the miller gloomily. 

Drusilla remained silent. 

He stood watching her face, in the dusk of the interior, 
till the womanly attractiveness of it made his blood sting 
him. 

'^Well, le’ bygones be bygones between us — shall us?** 
said the miller. 

" I don’t mind,** said Drusilla, still leaning against the sacks. 

The shadows of the mill-chamber seemed to cut them off 
from the outer world. Drusilla stared at the floor, and the 
miller stared at her curiously. 

“ Thee*ve never shook hands weth me, Drusilla, not wance, 
sence we parted. Might do it now, to make it up,** said 
the miller. 

He held out his hand. 

Drusilla did not advance hers. 

Waan’t shake hands, waan*t*ee ? ** 

"Well, I don*t knaw so much that I mind doin* that.** 
And she gave him her hand, without lifting her eyes. 

"Musn* ask for a kiss, s’pose, for owld acquaintance 
sake?** said the miller, still holding her hand in his: and 
he suddenly put his arm around her and kissed her full on 
the mouth. 

Drusilla wrenched herself free from him and retreated to 
the door. 

" Don’t you try that agen, Mr. Pengelly ! ’* she cried. 

" *Tesn* the fust kiss we’ve had — we two,” said the miller. 

"Well, let it be the last, then,” said Drusilla, denying no- 
thing. And she backed to the door and out into the road. 

" Arn’t offended weth me, are’ee ? ** 

" Good mornin*,” said Drusilla ; walking away hastily and 
without answering his question. 

The miller did not attempt to follow her, but stood watch- 
ing her out of sight, his face flushed hotly and his brain 
riotously full of thought. 


144 


EZEKIELS SIN 


^^Lev* Drusilla ask her mawther — lev* her talk it ovver 
weth she. I got nawthin’ to say in the matter. Le* me 
git down.** 

^^But thee don*t object, do’ee 

^^Lev* her ask her mawther. I got nawthin* to do weth 
it, I teiree ! Le* me git down, will’ee ! ** and he rose from 
the seat. Here ! stop thy bosses ! Le* me git down ! ** 

Joe pulled up the horses and Ezekiel got down from the 
waggon, his legs shaking under him and his hands trembling 
violently. 

'^Well, we*ll ask Mrs. Trevaskis, an* say thee towld us to, 
shall us .^’* 

^^Do what thee like — do what thee like! But drive on, 
man ! drive on ! an* le’ me qua’at 1 ’* 

Joe drove on, greatly perplexed in his mind, but, all the 
same, determined now to carry the matter through. 

As for Ezekiel, dragging his feet heavily along the road, 
he moved down the hill towards Newlyn like a man dazed 
by a sudden blow, and staggering almost drunkenly under 
the effects of it. 

He was slouching into Newlyn, with his lips trembling 
weakly and his eyes almost sunken into his head, when he 
met Tom the Hangman emerging smilingly from a cottage 
where he had just been selling some of his wares. 

The pedlar’s van was standing in the middle of the road, 
and Ezekiel, as he skirted it, met the pedlar face to face. 

The misshapen little creature looked at the crabber curi- 
ously, with a queer, malicious twinkle in his beady black eyes. 

^^What! thee goin’ on the boats agen, are’ee.^” cried 
the pedlar, on seeing the crabber with his sea-boots and 
his provision-bag. Shud ha* thought, by all accounts, thee 
done too well laast sayson to need it.” 

Ay, groaned Ezekiel inwardly, as he passed the pedlar 
without replying: I shall be a marked man soon — a Judas 
to them all ! 


IN THE ENCHANTED WOOD OF MEMORY 145 


CHAPTER XXIII 

IN THE ENCHANTED WOOD OF MEMORY 

When Joe told him how easily he had succeeded with 
Ezekielj the miller expressed his satisfaction with great 
heartiness. He advised Joe (as a friend) to make all his 
arrangements as promptly as he could, that he might be 
prepared to start at the earliest date possible. He also 
threw out the hint that, if Joe Avanted an hour or two to 
go down with Drusilla to see her mother, he might have 
the hour or two that evening, and would be wise to seize 
the opportunity. ^^Take thy toll 'fore the mouth o’ the 
sack es tied, man ! ” said he. 

But Drusilla received the news in a vastly different spirit. 

Got a bit o’ news for’ee, Drusilla,” Joe had said to her, 
with assumed carelessness, as he was finishing his dinner. 

Good, or bad ? ” Drusilla asked him, with equal in- 
difference ; her thoughts having travelled far even during 
the dinner-hour. 

"Tha’s for thee to say, li’l woman, when thee hear it.” 
And he paused to stretch out his legs, and to twist the 
ends of his moustache. 

Well, what es it ? ” asked Drusilla impatiently. 

I’m thinkin’ o’ goin’ to America in a month or two,” he 
remarked carelessly. 

Having heard this kind of talk before, Drusilla did not 
trouble to reply to it. 

Piqued by her indifference, Joe immediately began to 
swagger. There esn’ room in this owld country for a 
man to make ’es way, nohow. I want room to spread me 
elbows : ” and he flung out his arms dramatically. “ An’ I 
mayne to git it, too,” he added emphatically. 

Drusilla leaned against the table, watching him intently. 

But where’s the money to come from ? ” she asked him, 
still incredulous. 

K 


146 


EZEKIELS SIN 


“ Aw, that’ll be arranged, aisily enough. Mester Pengelly 
es goin’ to lend me five pounds : offered it to me without me 
askin’ un; ^ out o’ respect for me f ’ he said.” 

^^Eh } He ded, ded ’a } ” For a minute, her glance grew 
as vague as if her wits had gone wool-gathering. But she 
pulled herself together promptly. Ayven five pounds 
waan’t cover the expense,” she remarked, as she watched the 
little man strutting up and down the kitchen. 

'^Well, thy faather have promised to advance us haaf-a- 
score as well.” 

" So thee’ve arranged it all, have’ee — thee an’ the miller } 
An’ poor faather es to be drained agen . . 

“ He got the money, thee towld me theeself ” 

" I ben a fool wance too often : an’ now I’m payin’ for it, 
s’pose.” 

" Fool, or no, the sack’s of thy awn fillin’, anyway. Wha’s 
in it thee put there : for raisons o’ thy awn, s’pose. Thee 
said he’d got the money : an’ he dedn’ deny it. An’, wha’s 
more, he was quite agreeable I shud have it,” Joe insisted. 
“ ‘ Tell her to go down to her wawther an git it," he said to me 
twice ovver.” 

“ I question ef he’ve got it to lend’ee, ayven ef he’s 
willin’.” 

" Ef he ha’n’t, I shall ha’ to sell up the furniture, 
tha’s all.” 

" Want to break up house, do’ee } ” 

"All depends upon circumstances,” answered Joe coolly, 
as he swaggered up and down the kitchen with his thumbs 
stretching out his waistcoat. 

" Ayven fifteen pounds wed be little enough to do it on,” 
remarked Drusilla. " An’ how am I to git on, ’tell you git 
in work an’ begin to send to me } An’ then there’ll be the 
baby cornin’ an’ the extry expense o’ that.” 

" Gosh ! now I never give a thought to thee ! ” said Joe. 
" Tha’s a fact, li’l woman ! ” he added, smiling broadly, as if 
it were the best of jokes that he should have thought only 
of himself. 

Drusilla bit her lip, and remained silent. 


IN THE ENCHANTED WOOD OF MEMORY 147 

Joe continued strutting up and down, still smiling to 
himself. 

^^Well, thee must think of it now, then,” Drusilla said 
impatiently. How am I to live, an’ pay the rent an’ the 
doctor ? It wed be a couple o’ months, I ’spect, before thee’d 
be able to send to me. . . .” 

All o’ that, I ’spect,” replied Joe, carelessly. 

" Well, then, thee must layve me money to go on weth,” 
said Drusilla. 

" We’ll git the money from thy faather fust ; an’ I’ll figure 
it out weth M ester Pengelly. Wan thing es sartin, an’ that 
es — that I’m goin’ ! ” 

" Thee’ve made up thy mind to go, then ? ” 

Not a bit o’ doubt about that ! ” 

Drusilla watched him with critical closeness: reckoning 
up his character as she never had done before. But for 
that passion in woman whose burden she carried visibly, her 
contempt for him would have leaped out in words that would 
have scorched him. Had he been a woman, she would have 
eased her mind and showed her heart nakedly. But towards 
a man, and he her husband, the filaments of sex were astir 
strangely all through her nature. 

She was reckoning up her married life — its few gains and 
its many losses ; what it gave and what it took away — and 
she could not find it in her nature, even at this juncture, to 
be otherwise than glad that she had lived to be a wife. That 
the purchase was worth the price, she felt with the passion 
of a w^oman in every single drop of blood in her body. 
'^It got nawthin’ to do weth content,” she decided in her 
mind. "’Tes the nature o’ we wemmin to want to try 
marr-ried life. I wanted to try it: an* I’ve done so. An’ 
I don’t regret it, ayven now ! ” 

As Joe was leaving the cottage, after dinner, he remarked 
to her roughly, Mester Pengelly have offered me a couple 
o’ hours’ layve, an’ I’m goin’ to take it, an’ we’ll go down 
to thy mawther’s ’bout tay-time an’ all have tay together as 
sociable as can be.” 

Drusilla did not trouble to reply. 


148 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Mind ! ” he insisted, " I shall be in by five o’clock : an’ 
then we’ll start off, right away, for thy mawther’s.” 

"Very well,” said Drusilla, still standing at the end of 
the table. 

Joe went off tilting his head proudly in the sunshine and 
swelling in his clothes like an excited turkey-cock. ^^Tha’s 
the way to manage wemmin ! ” he remarked to himself, with 
a satisfied smile. "Trust a woman for knawin’ her master, 
when she do see un ! ” And, at this, the little man puffed 
out his stomach more and more, till his waistcoat suddenly 
burst open at the bottom — a couple of the buttons being 
jerked off into the hedgerows. ‘‘ Darn the buttons ! ” he 
cried impatiently: and then solaced himself with the reflec- 
tion, " Still, don’t matter, she’ll ha’ to saw them on : ’tes 
’most all they’re fit for — finickin’ things like that ! ” 

Meanwhile Drusilla stood motionless beside the kitchen- 
table : seeing many matters in an aspect decidedly novel 
to her, and, perhaps for the first time since a woman’s pulse 
had beat in her, judging herself as harshly as even an enemy 
could have done. 

Presently she roused herself out of her reverie: a new 
expression on her face. 

After washing-up the dinner-things and tidying-up the 
house, she went out to the garden gate and stood leaning 
thoughtfully across it, watching the hedgeless roadway that 
skirted the bottoms and the pedestrians who at intervals 
passed leisurely along it. 

Presently she descried the person she evidently had been 
waiting for. The miller was coming along the road, his 
retriever at his heels. 

On seeing her standing at the garden gate, he advanced 
towards the cottage with a strange expectancy in his eyes. 
He was flattered, and yet, in some way, a bit disappointed, ‘ 
at the sudden medley of thoughts that jostled together in 
his brain. When he had courted Drusilla, years ago, he 
had thought of her as a girl. . . . But, there, such is life ! 

. . . All in good time, everything goes to the market. . . . 
And he walked up to the cottage gate with a step that 


IN THE ENCHANTED WOOD OF MEMORY 149 

was almost jaunty, a peculiar smile gradually mastering 
his lips. 

He was still a yard or two from her, when Drusilla flung 
at him the question, ^^What’ee mayne, you, by offerin’ to 
lend Joe that five pounds ? ” 

^‘^Aw, well, thee knaw . . . between ourselves . . he 
began confusedly, the tone of her voice, as well as her 
manner, having taken him quite aback. 

Knaw what ? Spaik out, man ! ” she demanded im- 
patiently. 

Her antagonism was so marked that the miller stared at 
her dumbfounded. 

“ Shall I help’ee out } ” she asked, seeing him standing 
there silent. In thy mind was it a sort o’ pa3un’ a man — 
a price, say, for me ? ” 

The miller stood before her looking foolishly helpless. 

"Ef I’ve offended ’ee, Mrs. Rosevear, I’m rayle sorry,” he 
began haltingly ; his big flat-topped fingers fumbling con- 
fusedly with his watch-chain. I thought, seein’, like . . . 
believin’ as how . . . That es,” he corrected himself, '^we 
havin’ ben sweethearts at wan time, Drusilla, an’ I likin’ ee, 
still, better than any awther woman ...” 

“ An’ me anawther man’s wife ! ” interposed Drusilla. 

What have that got to do weth it ? ” he demanded, with 
a flash of passion. 

This much — that I all’j^s remember it, Robert Pengelly ! 
Anawther man’s wife, mind ! not a girl, not a single woman. 
Thee might ha’ had me at wan time — but thee dedn’ choose 
to ” 

More fool I ! ” rejoined the miller impetuously. 

An’ now tha’s ovver ! No good goin’ back on it, Robert 
Pengelly ! Tha’s ovver an’ done weth — that es ! Ovver an’ 
done weth ! ” she repeated. 

Well, ef it es, an’ ef I was a fool — as I knaw I was in 
they days — I tell’ee agen, as I towld’ee afore,” he insisted, 
with passion, “that I like’ee, still, better than any awther 
woman ! ” 

“An’ I say agen,” replied Drusilla, her face flaming, “that 


150 


EZEKIEVS SIN 


this es between us all’ys ! And she put one of the fingers 
of her right hand on the finger with the wedding-ring on 
it : both hands resting on the top of the garden gate. 

“Wellj lev’ it be so! That waan’t alter my feelin’s,” 
replied the miller^ almost querulously. Maid or wife^ ’tes 
all wan to me : here I am at thy heels still.” 

" An* what do’ee expect to git by it ? Do’ee think I’ll 
slip off this for’ee/’ she touched her wedding-ring again, ^^an’ 
go through the world bare-fingered for folks to point at ? ” 

The miller remained silent, biting the ends of his 
moustache. 

We’ve knawed ayche awther years, now,” remarked 
Drusilla, facing him across the gate ; an’ we was shiners 
when we was onnly boy an’ girl, thee an’ I . . . ” 

Iss, tha’s true ! The fust girl I ever kissed was thee, 
Drusilla.” 

^^An’ the fust man I ever kissed was thecj* responded 
Drusilla, as if she were unconsciously thinking aloud before 
him. 

^^But mind you,” she added, with an emphasis he was 
compelled to take note of, ^^ef I thought thee wert tryin’ 
to buy me as ef I was a good-for-nawthin’, Fd rather stank^ 
on thy face, as I stank on this grass here,” and she struck 
her foot passionately on the grass border of the garden, 

than I’d ever exchange a word weth’ee agen so long as I 
do live!” 

The miller fumbled with his watch-chain and chewed the 
ends of his moustache nervously. He felt dazed — he felt 
confused — he was oddly bewildered. He looked straight 
into Drusilla’s eyes : and as he looked there he was 
strangely moved. 

^^Well, Drusilla,” he replied slowly. "I ’gree weth’ee 
that, after all, ’tesn’ feer traytement of’ee. Thee’ve made 
me feel a bit ashamed — I tell’ee that feer an’ oppen. But 
ef thee’ll tell me what thee want. I’ll do it, ef ’tes possible. 
Strike me dead, ef I don’t ! ” he asserted emphatically. 


1 Stamp. 


DAUGHTER VERSUS WIFE 


151 


^'Tell Joe thee back out o* that five-pound offer: say 
thee’ve changed thy mind — anything. Ef he want the 
money, lev’ un arn it.” 

It’ll make me look small, an’ sim a bit of a liar, waan’t 
it ? ” said the miller, the awkwardness of his position now 
forcing itself on him. 

"Well, as thee plaise,” replied Drusilla, watching his 
face ; her eyes plainly belying the pretended indifference of 
her tones. “ Thee can look small before he, or before me : 
whichever thee plaise.” 

"Then, by God, it shaan’t be before thee E* cried the 
miller. "That have settled it. I’ll do it. I’ll tell un I’ll 
draw back.” 

Drusilla’s eyes shone brilliantly : her face was full of hot 
colour. 

"Thank’ee! I thought thee wed,” she replied; her voice 
so low that it was like Morvenna’s when she was whisper- 
ing to the schoolmaster. 

As the miller wished her " Good afternoon ! ” not daring 
to stay any longer, his voice unconsciously seemed to echo 
the vibrating something in hers that had been so distinctly 
noticeable in spite of her efforts to suppress it. And Drusilla, 
as he walked away with his dog at his heels, went into the 
cottage with a smile on her face that might frankly have 
been called charming. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

DAUGHTER VERSUS WIFE 

When Joe was leaving work that evening, the miller, halt- 
ingly and most confusedly, remarked to him that he "felt 
mean ; as mean as chip broth. But he couldn’t help himself. 
He had heard some news, since the post went round, that 
he hadn’t even dreamed of — earlier in the morning. The 
fact was ... he found he wouldn’t be able, after all, to 
afford the five pounds that he had offered to lend Joe. He 


152 


EZEKIELS SIN 


was sorry — very sorry! — but he couldn’t help himself; he 
wouldn’t be able to manage it, really. Under the circum- 
stances, it would be impossible. And Joe mustn’t reckon on 
it, nohow.” 

" A nice hawl thee’ve landed me in, Mester Pengelly ! ’* 
said Joe sullenly. I ben an’ made all me arrangements : 
dependin’ on thy word, as ef ’twas gospel. I caan’t back- 
out now, ef thee can,” said he sulkily. An’ I waan’t I ” 
he jerked out, with a sudden vicious emphasis ; thinking of 
Drusilla and her possible gloating over his disappointment. 

Joe said nothing to Drusilla about the downfall of his 
plans in this direction, so that she w'as left in complete 
ignorance as to whether the miller had kept his word to 
her, or had merely been deceiving her, and had taken the 
opportunity to play her false. 

All the time they were walking together down to the 
cove, Drusilla’ s thoughts were so engrossed by this aspect of 
the matter, that she paid very little attention to anything 
else : and she would willingly have given her best gown to 
have been assured, beyond doubt, that the affair had been 
settled as she desired and as the miller had promised her. 
She seemed to attach an importance almost morbidly ex- 
aggerated, to that significant proviso "as the miller had 
promised her ” : harping on it in her thoughts with almost 
wearying iteration. 

It was the first attempt she had made since she had 
reached womanhood — the first effort with her whole heart 
and with the full strength of her nature — to exercise over 
a man the shaping power of proprietorship : and it seemed 
to her a vital matter that the attempt should be a success. 

If it failed — the backbone of her energies would be 
broken. Never again (she assured herself) would her life 
recover its strength. 

She might fall to anything — in her disappointment. It 
would demoralise her once for all. 

She thought to herself that presently, when Joe asked for 
the money, he would probably make some reference to the 
miller’s promise to him. If Joe failed to refer to the loan 


DAUGHTER VERSUS WIFE 


153 


(and he would be sure to boast of it, if he could) then 
she would know that the miller had faithfully kept his 
word to her ; and then she would forgive him for the kiss 
he had stolen — and they would be friends — and all would 
be well. 

The sun was setting by the time Drusilla and Joe got 
down to the cottage, and the schoolmaster, who had just 
brought Morvenna home from a walk, was kissing her “ good 
night in the shadow of the porch. 

Morvenna, her arms around his neck, was drawing him 
to her closely ; the schoolmaster clasping her lovingly, his arm 
about her waist. In fact, he held her so securely, that, as 
she hung on his neck, he had lifted her from the ground 
and held her up playfully, claiming yet another kiss before 
he would set her down. 

On perceiving Joe and Drusilla, however, Morvenna 
coloured violently, crying, ^^Let me down, dear! I’ll pay 
you another time ! Drusilla and her husband are behind 
you,” she whispered, close to his face. 

The schoolmaster accordingly released her, and she ran 
indoors, blushing hotly : Joe and Drusilla, after exchanging 
^^good nights” with the schoolmaster, entering the little 
kitchen close at her heels. 

It was the first time Joe had been in the cottage since 
his marriage, and his unexpected appearance at such an early 
hour — at an hour, in fact, when he was ordinarily supposed 
to be at work — considerably surprised Malva and, indeed, 
somewhat alarmed her. 

Nawthin’ wrong weth Drusilla, es there } ” she inquired 
anxiously. 

No ! I’m all right, mother ! ” replied Drusilla cheerily. 

Joe glanced at her, as if expecting her to explain the 
reason for their visit. But Drusilla had turned her back on 
him and was taking off her hat and jacket, remarking 
smilingly to Morvenna, " Playin’ out o’ school agen ! Tha’s 
the second time I’ve caught ’ee ! ” 

Morvenna blushed, and hung her head. Still, it isn’t as 
if we were not engaged,” she remarked defensively. 


154 


EZEKIELS SIN 


No, no ; tha’s all right, Morvenna. I done the same 
scores o’ times, when I was a girl your age.” 

Morvenna smiled back at her happily. “ One can’t help 
it,” said she : “ can they } ” 

“ No, no : ’tes in us.” 

And with this the whispering ceased. 

Perceiving that Drusilla was determined not to help 
him out in any way, Joe explained to Malva that they 
had come down to take a cup of tea with her and to 
have a bit of talk about two or three matters. ^^But fust 
we’ll have a feed, ef thee don’t mind, Mrs. Trevaskis : it 
waan’t be time wasted : we shall trot ovver the road aisier 
weth our load in the end,” he remarked, with a desperate 
attempt at joviality. ^^Come! gee up, Drusilla! Help thy 
mawther a bit, now ! ” 

“ No : lev’ her rest ! — Thee set down an’ rest a bit, 
Drusilla!” said Malva. '^Thee’ve had a long enough jaunt 
as it es, in thy condition. Thee’rt bra’ an’ tired, I’ll be 
bound. Me an’ Morvenna’ll git the tay.’ 

^^Yes, you sit still, Drusilla!” added Morvenna. "You 
must play at being a visitor for once.” 

Presently, when they were all seated at the tea-table, and 
the conversation was moving a little, though still somewhat 
languidly, Joe remarked to Drusilla, "Now, li’l woman, le’s 
hear what thee got to say ! Thee got somethin’ thee want 
to mention to thy mawther, b’leeve : ha’n’t’ee } ” 

"Nawthin’ special, that I knaw of,” Drusilla replied in- 
differently. 

"I thought thee’d got some kind o’ message for her,” 
prompted Joe, looking at his wife frowningly, but failing to 
catch her eye. 

"Ef so, I don’t knaw of it,” rejoined Drusilla, sipping her 
tea coolly. 

" That message o’ thy faather’s ...” 

" He never gov’ me none, that I knaw of,” persisted Drusilla. 

Morvenna watched her sister curiously : and Malva looked 
from Joe to Drusilla, and from Drusilla back again to Joe, 
with a mingled perplexity and anxiety that Morvenna failed 


DAUGHTER VERSUS WIFE 


155 


to comprehend. To the mother, the dangerous nearness of 
a conflict between a man and his wife, where the jarring 
of wills was so pronounced and so stubborn as in this case, 
was an idea that insistently forced itself on her attention. 
As for Morvenna, however (unmarried and in love down to 
her finger-tips) the idea, at the moment, had not entered 
her mind. 

Darn it all ! what’ee mayne by shyin’ at it in this way } 
Out weth it, will’ee ! ” said Joe angrily to his wife. 

I’ve nawthin’ to ^ out weth,' that I knaw of. Ef thee’ve 
a message — say it theeself.” 

Joe glanced at his wife with a look as black as a thunder- 
cloud. “ Well, ef the wife es too bashful, s’ pose I must deliver 
it meself,” he remarked, with an indifferent attempt at a 
smile, addressing himself now directly to Malva. Mester 
Trevaskis have agreed to lend us ten pounds . . 

'^Lend thee — I got nawthin’ to do weth it,” persisted 
Drusilla. 

Darn it all ! ” growled Joe, a menacing note in his 
voice : " thee’rt like a young filly weth the harness gallin’ 
her ; flingin’ up her heels for everything or nawthin’. Keep 
qua’at, will’ee ! ” 

Drusilla sat still and silent, her hands lying on her lap : 
while Morvenna watched the scene with her eyes dilating 
anxiously. 

'^Mester Trevaskis have agreed to lend us ten pounds, 
an’ he said Drusilla was to come down to’ee and git it,” 
said Joe sullenly. 

When ded ’a promise’ee this, Drusilla } ” asked Malva of 
her daughter. 

I don’t knaw no more about the matter than Morvenna 
do. Joe drove father in to Newlyn in his waggon this 
mornin’, an’ it do sim that, on the way, he asked father to 
lend un some money ; an’ accordin’ to his account, father pro- 
mised to do so. Promised to lend un ten pounds — accordin’ 
to his account. Tha’s all I knaw about it,” said Drusilla. 
"An’ ’tes more than I wanted to knaw, for that matter,” 
she added, with a spice of temper. 


156 


EZEKIELS SIN 


"What do’ee want the money for?” Malva asked of 
Joe. 

"Goin’ to America!” said Joe defiantly. "I’m tired o’ 
this owld world.” 

" Tired o’ thy wife, too ? Or was’ee thinkin’ o’ takin’ she 
with’ee ?” 

" No : goin’ to lev’ her home for the present. I must find 
me feet fust ; an’ look around me a bit. Time enough to 
send home for she when I’m settled. That es, ef she keer 
to come out to me,” he added carelessly. 

" What do thee say about it, Drusilla ? ” asked Malva. 

" What good’ll ten pounds be to un ? ” replied Drusilla 
evasively : her heart beating violently as she propounded the 
question. 

" Tha’s true enough, too,” rejoined Malva thoughtfully. 
And then, turning to Joe, " Ten pounds esn’ much good : 
thee’d want nearer twenty.” 

" Well, the money I want I shall manage to git some- 
how.” (Drusilla’s heart began to dance. He had kept faith 
with her ! He had respected her trust in him ! And her 
eyes sparkled delightedly.) ^'Ef I caan’t git it no awther 
way,” Joe added sullenly, "wxll, I shall ha’ to sell some o’ 
the furniture.” 

" Drusilla’s money bought that 1 ” Morvenna interposed 
promptly. "The furniture is yours, Drusilla,” said she, 
turning to her sister, " don’t you let him meddle with it ! 
It isn’t fair nohow 1 ” 

" It do sim to me,” said Malva to Joe, " the matter es a bit 
muddled. Better come down some Saturday when faather 
es home. Thee can talk the matter ovver better weth he.’’ 

" Then thee waan’t gi’ me the money ? Ezekiel said I 
cud have it.” 

"If you want ten pounds so badly — work and earn it!” 
cried Morvenna. " Don’t you let him have it, mother ! I 
wouldn’t, if I were you ! ” 

Joe glared at her with an expression so savage that she 
rose from her chair in maiden anger. She was unused to 
being stared at, and glared at, in this way by a man. 


DAUGHTER VERSUS WIFE 


157 


Do’ee want un to go, Brasilia ? ” 

That got nawthin’ to do weth it,” replied Brasilia. 

" Then, are*ee willin for an to go ? ” 

“ That got nawthin’ to do weth it ayther, simminly.” 

Bat are you willing, Brasilia } ” Morvenna asked her, 
affectionately. 

Iss : lev* un go, ef he do want to,’* Brasilia answered. 

''Well, thee knaw best what thee want,” rejoined Malva. 
" Ef thee don’t, nowan do ... . Thee must settle between 
theeselves, b’leeve,” she added, with resignation. 

Morvenna’s heart was sore indeed for her sister. The 
situation, in its complexity, had in it elements of which 
she had no conception : and her understanding of it was 
practically limited to a perception of the pity and the pro- 
bable pain of it as far as her sister was concerned. That 
Brasilia’s heart was actually swelling with a secret unacknow- 
ledged happiness, Morvenna had no more idea of than she 
had of the geography of Jupiter. 

"Ezekiel promised me the money, an* I ben buildin* on 
gettin* it,” Joe began again, with dogged persistency. 

"Well, let father himself tell us so!” said Morvenna, 
standing at her sister’s side. "Surely, you can wait till 
Saturday to see him. You are not going off to America 
to-night, with your whip in your hand and your carter’s 
frock on.” The girl, spurred on by the defensive sentiment, 
felt as pugnacious as a little terrier. 

Joe rose from his seat and stood in the middle of the 
kitchen. "You wemmin* arn’t good for nawthin* but clack,” 
he remarked boorishly. "I’d rather talk to a man, fefty 
times ovver ! ** 

" When next you see father, we shall be here, too ! ” cried 
Morvenna, in her triumphant girlish defiance of him. 

" Barn’ee, you li’l vixen I what’ee keep yappin* at me 
heels for ! I got haaf a mind to fly-out an* kick *ee out o* 
doors 1 ** 

" Thank you, Mr. Rosevear ! but you will please remember 
it isn’t usual to kick folks out of their own house ! ” The 
girl was so frankly delighted with what she considered as 


158 


EZEKIEL'S SIN 


her victory over him^ that she felt as if she could dance 
around him to emphasise her triumph. 

" I’m really sorry for you, Drusilla ! ** said Morvenna to 
her sister, affectionately, as the latter was leaving the cottage, 
about a yard in the rear of Joe. 

Iss ? I dedn’ quite catch what thee said,” replied Drusilla, 
looking absent-mindedly into her sister’s face. 

He’s a brute — that’s what he is ! And I don’t care if 
he hears me say it ! ” 

" Aw . . . Joe } I warn’t thinkin’ of he,” rejoined 
Drusilla. 

^^You were thinking of father, I suppose, Drusilla?” 

Drusilla made no reply. 


CHAPTER XXV 

A MEETING ON THE MOOR 

Joe’s rebuff in Ezekiel’s cottage rankled deeply in his mind. 
He was savagely determined to have his revenge for it : but 
the particular method of his revenge — or, rather, its particular 
moment — was something he could not so easily settle. 

As a consequence of this mood of his, the relations be- 
tween Drusilla and himself were considerably strained: a 
result Drusilla treated with complete indifference. 

She recognised now — as a matter of feeling, rather than 
as a matter of thought — that Joe had entirely lost the power 
to injure her vitally. He might annoy her and might even 
make her nerves quiver, but the roots of her heart he was 
no longer able to touch— not even through the baby whose 
life she was quick with. She could fall back on hidden 
thoughts for her strengthening and refreshing : and, with 
these to sustain her, it was impossible for Joe entirely to 
crush her spirit. 

Indeed, Joe was afraid to be too rough with her. The 
hope of getting from Ezekiel the loan he was so anxious 
for, acting as a secret curb on his inclinations : a curb that 


A MEETING ON THE MOOR 159 

he was compelled to acknowledge, though he chafed against 
it savagely. 

He turned over and over in his mind, the various means 
he could think of for getting his own way and wreak- 
ing his will on everybody, but the sack of his fortunes was 
as empty as the devil’s purse on a Sunday, and, stand it 
up as he would on the threshing-floor of his thoughts, it 
invariably collapsed and left him nothing to lean against. 
He was utterly powerless, in himself, to do the thing he 
had set his mind on. He must get outside assistance, as 
he now recognised clearly, or else he must be content to 
remain as he was always ! 

He passed two or three days in this state of fruitless irrita- 
tion, till at last he was as spitefully restless as an ape. 

But on the Friday something happened that freshened his 
hopes anew. 

He was leisurely driving home from a lonely hamlet 
among the hills — one of the dreariest and most out-of-the- 
way collection of cottages to be found between St. Ives and 
Tol-pedn-penwith — and was puzzling muddleheadedly over 
the situation, when he perceived some distance ahead of him, 
on the windy moor, a van which he believed to be that of 
Tom the Hangman. 

The rough cartway across the moor had to wind con- 
siderably, in order to avoid the enormous blocks of granite 
that were strewn among the gorse and heather by hundreds, 
and consequently some time elapsed (even after Joe had 
decided that it was a van and not a boulder) before he was 
near enough to the vehicle to be sure it was the pedlar’s, 
and, of course, still longer before he was abreast of it. 

All the time he was approaching the little weather-beaten 
van, Joe was considering nervously a somewhat daring sug- 
gestion that had flashed across his mind like a sudden glare 
of lightning. Should he consult Tom the Hangman — 
explain the circumstances to him and tell him what he 
wanted — and then . . . should he accept his assistance, if it 
could be had } 

Over and over in his mind Joe turned the question — tried. 


160 


EZEKIELS SIN 


according to his ability, to look at it from every point of 
view — and, in the end, felt as bewildered as a cat caught in 
a mill-hopper and in danger of sliding down to the stones 
grumbling underneath. 

As he came abreast of the van, Joe perceived that the 
little pedlar had set up a tinker’s fire among the boulders, 
and was just then busy soldering some tinware, two or three 
smoke-blackened kettles lying at his feet. 

Suddenly Joe remembered that one of his linchpins 
wanted strengthening. It would be a good opportunity 
to break the ice ” with the pedlar : and he determined to 
avail himself of the chance by offering him the job. 

The pedlar was perfectly willing to undertake the task, 
and seemed to be quite as pleased as Joe to have a spell 
of gossip. 

The carter stood beside the fire in the shelter of the 
boulders, and (either from nervousness, or purely out of 
absent-mindedness) he kept denting the grass, every now 
and then, with the heavy, brass-shod handle of his whip, 
while the conversation, which at first came little closer to 
either than the distant plain of the sea that they could 
perceive dark against the horizon, gradually came as close 
to them as the keen October wind, that was finding its 
way covertly to their bodies all the time. 

Before he fully realised how perilously confidential he 
was becoming, Joe had told the pedlar the tale of his 
woes and disappointments — the miller’s promise to him, 
and its withdrawal; Ezekiel’s promise, and its non-fulfil- 
ment; the way in which he had been badgered and made 
a fool of in the crabber’s cottage ; and his fixed intention 
to go to America, in spite of everything and every one, if 
only he could get the money : and get it he would, by 

hook or by crook ! Yes, even if he had to sell every 

stick of his furniture, and the very bed from under his 

wife, he would get the money and he would go ! He 

wasn’t going to be made a fool of in this way — not he ! 
A parcel of women trying to badger a man between them ; 
and almost calling him a liar to his very face — he wouldn’t 


A MEETING ON THE MOOl 


I6l 


stand it ! He would show them what he was made of — that 
he would, they should find ! They should see he wasnT a 
tailor’s dummy — a coat and trousers stuffed with bran — but 
a man with spirit (darn them !) and a man who would have 
his way ! 

Quite rights too ! ” said the pedlar, who had been helping 
him on sympathetically. Wha’s the good of a man, ef he 
caan’t craw ovver the wemmin ? A fine world it wed be — 
wedn’t it ? — ef they was to craw ovver he ! Keep them 
onder, an’ make them knaw their places— tha’s my motter ! 
Onnly thee gi’ them a lesson weth the layste taste of a 
whep-lash in it : an’ thee’ll see they waan’t forgit it in a 
hurry — young or owld ! ” 

Darned, ef I wedn’ do it, too ! ef it hadn’ ben for 
Ezekiel. I want to get that ten pounds out of he. An’ 
I’ll git it too, by hook or by crook ! ” growled the carter. 

Iss : but are’ee sure he got it ? ” queried the pedlar, 
watching the carter intently with his little beady eyes. 

^^Well, me wife do say he have: an’ she ought to knaw. 
She towld me, ’fore we was marr-ried, her faather was better 
off than folks gov’ un credit for : an’ she proved it, too, by 
gittin’ nigh on forty pounds out of un.” 

The pedlar noted, mentally, that it was from the crabber, 
then, the money had really come. Their previous statement 
to him was merely a lie : as he had been inclined to think it 
from the first. But the knowledge that they had tried to de- 
ceive him, only (if possible) increased his friendliness. An’ 
his promisin’ ee the ten pounds, all so natural an’ friendly 
like, do sim to prove that he got money, an’ don’t mind’ee 
knawin’ it. He’ve keeped it putty close, though, from every 
wan else. Where ded ’a git it from, you : do’ee knaw ? ” 
said the pedlar carelessly. Kind o’ wreckin’ like, s’pose.^ 
Found a body from a wreck — or somethin’ o’ that sort.” 

Iss, ’spect ; somethin’ o’ that sort o’ thing. Drusilla 
wedn’ tell me. ’Tes a kind o’ saycret, she do say. But 
from what I can make out — through puttin’ two an’ two 
together — it must be somethin’ o’ that sort. Caan’t be 
anwthin’ else.” 


L 


162 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


"No; o’ coorse not. They must be all in the saycret 
down there, s’pose ? ” queried the pedlar, watching the 
carter closely. 

" That they are — all of them ! ” 

" That li’l maid Morvenna — she the schoolmaster es 
courtin’ — es she in it, too, shud’ee think ? ” the pedlar 
questioned. 

" Not a bit o’ doubt about it ! ” cried the carter, with 
vicious emphasis. "She’s w^an o’ the wust o’ the whole lot — 
she es ! ” 

" There’s no love lost between’ee, b’leeve ; es there ? ” 

" I do hate the li’l vixen like poison !” cried Joe savagely. 
" I’d like to thrash her weth this here whep 'tell she cudn’ 
stand up !” 

"Never changed thy mind between the sesters, ded’ee.?” 
queried the pedlar, insinuatingly. 

" What’ee mayne ; changed me mind ? I don’t onder- 
stand’ee.” 

"Never courted wan, an’ marr-ried the awther.^” 

"Not I !” cried Joe disdainfully. "A skein o’ thread like 
she, warn’t wuth a man thinkin’ of ! ” 

"The schoolmaster do think awtherwise.” 

" Lev’ un : an’ good luck to un ! He’ll find he got a li’l 
tartar in she ! ” 

" Do the schoolmaster knaw of the saycret, do’ee 
think } ” 

" Caan’t say : ’spect not. He might cry off his bargain in 
a hurry, ef he ded.” 

"Or it might be for that — for the money — that he’s 
maynin’ to marr-ry her ? ” 

" Might be, too. Never thought o’ that.” 

" Might be merely out o’ greediness — to keep the money 
for she an’ the schoolmaster — that she fired-up so agen’ee, 
when thee come for thy few pounds ? ” 

"Might be, you. Never thought o’ that, now.” 

" ’Tes onnly sence the w^reck o’ the Gannet, b’leeve, that 
he ben so flush o’ money } ” 

" Onnly sence then, b’leeve,” echoed the carter. 


A MEETING ON THE MOOR 


163 


“ The forty pounds that he gov*d"ee . . 

I onnly see’d thirty-eight/’ interposed the carter. 

^‘^Well^ the thirty-eight suvrins^ was they English wans, 
or Australians } ” 

"Australians, b’leeve, all o’ them. They lighty-yellow 
wans, they was.” 

Thought as much,” quoth the pedlar. And he re- 
peated the words musingly ; " Iss . . . I thought as much.” 
Suddenly his little beady eyes filled vivaciously with life, 
jittering as if, in another minute, they would throw off 
viable sparks. "Tell’ee what,” he cried to Joe; "b’leeve 
I (an help’ee ovver the stile — ef thee railly want to git 
ovvtr it. Honour bright ! do’ee railly want to go to 
Ameica } ” And he watched the carter’s face like a ferret 
watchng the eyes of a rat. 

"Togo next week, ef I had the money ! Darn them all, 
ef I weln’ ! ” 

" An’ vhat wed’ee do, now, to git the money to take’ee 
ovver } ” .sked the pedlar. 

" I’d doanything ! ” blurted out the carter, with an almost 
savage enegy. 

" Anythiig^ eh . . Well,” said the pedlar meditatively, 
"b’leeve I On manage the matter for’ee, on a pinch— -on 
a pinch. Ti finish this li’l job for’ee — waan’t take five 
minutes, now— an’ then we’ll talk ovver matters, an’ see ef 
we can come toterms.” 

" Right ! I’m igreeable ! ” replied the carter boisterously ; 
in a tone whost assumption of stout-heartedness his eyes 
certainly belied. 

As he stood pinching the turf with the handle of his 
whip, while the pedlar finished off his job deliberately, 
Joe felt half incliied to take to his heels ; or, at any 
rate, to crack his whip warningly over the horses and 
rattle off across the moor without waiting for further de- 
velopments. 

It was the first time in his life that he had had dealings 
with one presumably S) close a relative of the devil : and 
at the mere thought he carter’s heart was shaken with 


164 EZEKIELS SIN 

strange, formless terrors, trembling almost as violently as the 
pulses in his wrists. 

But the rancorous desire to wreak his will on those who 
had thwarted him, was even stronger than the fear that 
glimmered tremulously through his thoughts. 

If he could get what he was hankering after — get it he 
would! And if the price he had to pay for it were an 
exceeding heavy one, so much heavier, in proportion, should 
be the weight of his hand when it fell presently upon those 
who had driven him to pay the price ! 

The wind sighed wearily and drearily across the moo*, 
now whining fretfully and peevishly like a thing in pan, 
and now rising to a long, lugubrious moan almost unca; 4 ny 
in its note of human melancholy • presently dying aw^^ as 
if through exhaustion, into a lingering wail so indescribably 
mournful that it made the blood creep as if the vein/ were 
choked with ice. The huge, dusky cloud-shadows irifted 
rapidly across the moor and the adjacent hill-slopes, chasing 
each other like a rout of half-invisible goblins : and the 
gleams of deepening colour that came and went dong the 
heather (as the light flushed it vigorously or was/fain tin gly 
withdrawn from it) produced an effect so e^c and so 
peculiarly unsettling, that it was not unlike /watching a 
vast, titanic countenance changing its expr^ion with a 
suddenness as inexplicable as it was sinisi^r. So that 
presently, as he stood in the shelter of the /Moulders, what 
with the hollow moaning of the wind awund him, the 
brightening and darkening of the moor as o a thing palpi- 
tating with life, and within him the min/dng of fear and 
of an evil fascination, the carter felt as omly disturbed and 
disquieted as if the ugly little pedlai/— his dusky face 
coloured to the hue of hot copper by t/e red glow of the 
fire over which he was working — were ^ally as uncanny as 
his reputation hinted at, and not only ^uld foretell events 
but could make them happen if he chose 

Indeed, the strangeness of the sceri made Joe shiver so 
uncomfortably that the pedlar, on glairing up at him sharply 
and suddenly, noted, with malicious satisfaction, how Joe 


A MEETING ON THE MOOR 


165 


instinctively drew his head back against his shoulders, his 
eyes dilating with fright and shifting to and fro restlessly — 
not unlike, thought the pedlar, an animal caught in a trap 
and suddenly perceiving something it is now in mortal 
terror of. 

The pedlar licked his lips; it was meat and drink to 
him, this. His mouth curved into a cruel smile, and, as he 
lowered his head again, his eyes glowed sombrely. 

" Le’s see ef it’ll do now,” he remarked presently, his task 
finished. 

Joe was only too glad to have something definite to do 
instead of standing there watching the misshapen little 
oddity, and quaking uncomfortably in his every member as he 
did so. “ Ay, le’s see ! Glad tes done !” said he, briskly. 

The two men went to the waggon together; and Joe 
pronounced the job well done and very satisfactory. 

Wha’s to pay } *' he asked, his hand diving into his 
trousers pocket. 

We’ll settle that weth the awther matter — call it ^nawthin, 
as between friends. But thee can charge the miller sex- 
pence : the job es wuth it, b’leeve.” 

Thaank’ee,” said the carter awkwardly : a little appre- 
hensive of the obligation, though he was afraid to reject it. 
In getting into the pedlar’s clutches even in so small a 
matter as this, he was aware of something not unlike the 
sensation of an animal that feels round it the first tentative 
fold of the python. He kept his hand in his pocket, 
still fingering the coins there, but he had not the courage 
to draw them out and to insist on the payment. 

" Come into me van weth me, we shall be out o’ the wind 
and more quieter,” said the pedlar, beginning to hobble 
towards the van, which was sheltered among the boulders 
not far from the fire. 

A few yards away, his ragged little pony — two of its 
legs hobbled'^ to prevent it from straying — was cropping the 
grass greedily with its head to the wind, its long mane 


^ Fastened together with a rope. 


166 


EZEKIELS SIN 


and tail blowing about freely ; and the pedlar^ as he glanced 
around him with all the pride of proprietorship, felt his 
veins swelling with a sense of arrogant masterfulness as 
he heard the carter following so unwillingly at his heels, 
and decided that presently this man, who had lied to him 
and insulted him, should be in his power as completely as 
the pony that he could torture as he pleased. 

As he was entering the little van, the carter gave a 
hurried look over his shoulder — casting a swift, agitated 
glance across the moor, as if his eyes were searching out 
some direction in which he could run for safety — and the 
sight of the wide, open hills, with their tiny clusters of 
cottages, the distant line of the sea dark against the horizon, 
and his waggon with the team of horses patiently waiting 
for him, made him almost decide, even now, to draw back 
and take to his heels. 

But at that moment the pedlar, from within the vehicle, 
addressed some remark to him as he was clearing a seat 
for their accommodation, and Joe, quaking in his vitals, his 
legs trembling under him, clutched his whip tightly and 
entered the little van. 

The great clouds sailed up darkly and massed thickly over 
the sky, the wind wailed across the moor almost with the 
lamentation of a sentient thing, the freshness of the daylight 
died away into an amber glimmer in the west, and then, 
somewhere far off among the distant hills, the faint rumbling 
of thunder was intermittently audible. 

As the heavy booming sullenly reverberated across the 
moor, the waggoner’s horses began to get restless, pawing 
the ground and jingling their harness noisily. 

Then out of the van Joe came stumbling hurriedly — a 
dazed, bewildered look upon his face — and hastened to his 
team, the pedlar hobbling at his heels. 

The two men shook hands ostentatiously before they 
parted — Joe eyeing the pedlar askance as the latter gripped 
his hand — and then Joe mounted to his seat and cracked 
the whip over his team with a feeling of immense relief at 
being again among things familiar to him. 


A MAN AND HIS BURDENS l67 

Remember — a strict saycret ! cried the pedlar to him 
warningly. 

Shaan’t forgit^ thee may be sure ! ” replied the carter, 
starting his team. 

And with that, as another and louder boom resounded 
across the moor, the carter drove off rapidly, with a noisy 
rattling and jingling that was music to his ears. 

The swarthy little pedlar, standing near the fire, gazed 
after the waggon intently for two or three minutes, with 
a look whose sinister, almost malignant, exultation would 
have made a child run to hide its face in its mother’s 
apron in terror. 

I got’ee in my haands at laast, Ezekiel Trevaskis ! . . . 
Got’ee here at laast /” said he, closing his fingers tightly. 

The thunder again began to boom and the lightning to 
flash vividly, and the pedlar, rubbing his skinny hands glee- 
fully together, hobbled back to his van muttering almost 
at every step, “ Iss ! I got’ee at laast ! Thee caan’t escape 
me nowT* 


CHAPTER XXVI 

A MAN AND HIS BURDENS 

Morvenna and the schoolmaster duly walked to Newlyn on 
the Saturday morning, and found Ezekiel just coming up on 
the quay. He had his empty provision-bag tucked under 
his arm and his great sea-boots slung over his shoulder, while 
in his left hand he carried a dozen fresh pilchards strung 
together by a horsel ^ run through their gills. 

The little fishing-town to-day was brimming over with life. 
The boats were all in harbour (either here or in Penzance), 
and all the men and youngsters were at home for the 
Sunday rest — that rest which the Cornish fisher-folk most 
religiously observe, and which they have since fought for so 


^ One of the small tying-ropes of a net. 


l68 


EZEKIELS SIN 


resolutely with their east-country rivals.^ The crooked little 
streets with their quaint^ foreign-looking architecture — streets 
tortuous and rough almost to the point of exasperation — were 
full of fishermen, fishers’ wives, children by the score ; and 
well-nigh in every direction there were nets, oars, old wooden 
blocks, odds and ends of rope, pieces of rusty chain, fish on 
strings, fish on skewers, fish on the window-sills, fish against 
the cottage-fronts, and, of course, fish (or, at least, the refuse 
from them) in all the gutters plentifully. The smell of 
sails being " barked ” and of boats being tarred, the oily 
odours from the fish-cellars, the briny smell pervading every- 
thing, the hundreds of gulls wheeling to and fro around 
the harbour, the sight of sea-boots, blue guernseys, and 
yellow sou westers — outside the doors, against the walls, in 
fact, almost everywhere — and of big, bearded men and white- 
aproned women moving to and fro as busy as bees in a hive, 
all these were elements in the ensemble which Newlyn pre- 
sented this morning, as Morvenna and the schoolmaster, with 
Ezekiel walking heavily between them, threaded their way 
through it as rapidly as they could. 

Ezekiel was fondly proud of his bright young daughter. 
His affection for her had the depth of root, and the vigorous 
tenacity of life, of those great primal passions that permeate 
a man’s consciousness as influentially and as vitally as the 
arteries knit together and control his physical system. And 
as the arteries may be said to hold the secret of a man’s 
body, so might Ezekiel’s love for Morvenna be said to hold 
the secret of his life. Her happiness was his great ambition, 
and to secure it he would have sacrificed his own willingly — 
nay, gladly ! Could he have felt certain that the irremedi- 
able ruin of his life would not affect Morvenna’s happiness 

^ The great fishing-riots of May 1896— when a detachment of soldiers 
on land and at sea a gunboat, a torpedo-boat destroyer and a special 
service ship, were required to keep the peace between the men of the 
east-country boats and the Cornish fishers — were entirely due to the 
determined stand which the Mount’s Bay men made on this crucial 
question. That the Cornish fishers won the fight and gained their 
point, I hope permanently, is something I feel the heartiest satisfac- 
tion in noting. 


A MAN AND HIS BURDENS I69 

in the least, he would have bowed his head to the penalty 
that he felt he deserved : would have confessed his sin 
openly to the world and have taken his punishment like a 
man. But when he thought of Morvenna suffering cruelly 
as the result of such confession, the man s heart was racked 
with intolerable anguish. Rather than subject her to such 
a disgrace, he would endure the agony of this torture that 
was assailing him at every turn, without making a single 
sign that an enemy could lay hold of. He was proud, for 
Morvenna’s sake, of the sweetheart she had secured ; and 
that the girl, loving the schoolmaster with such abounding 
fondness as she did, should be put in peril of losing him 
through her father's sin and baseness, was something that 
haunted Ezekiel to the pitch and height of agony. As 
he walked along this morning between his daughter and 
the schoolmaster, Ezekiel wished, in his despair, that Death 
would leap suddenly on him from its ambush — would seize 
him by the throat now and clear him out of their way 
for ever ! Oh (he thought, over and over again) if a man, 
when he is bruised and defeated and intolerably weary, 
only could dig his own grave-pit and lie down in it without 
shame ! 

In vain Morvenna and the schoolmaster tried to brighten 
his furrowed countenance ; the crabber, his head hanging 
and his eyes seeking the ground dejectedly, remained 
so drearily uncheered, so bent and beaten in his aspect, 
that the schoolmaster’s heart grew strangely sad. As he 
watched the old man dragging his feet so heavily along the 
road and found him even refusing the solace of the pipe, 
the schoolmaster thought that part of the effect might be 
due to physical weariness, and he therefore begged Ezekiel 
to take his arm and lean on him, and also to let him carry 
the heavy sea-boots. 

Morvenna’s eyes eloquently expressed her gratitude : but 
Ezekiel, though he thanked the schoolmaster, and that very 
heartily, would accept neither of the suggestions, and held to 
his resolve. 

Nor would he now take his daughter’s arm, which she 


170 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


affectionately tried to press on him ; fearing, if he did so, that 
his refusal of the schoolmaster’s w'^ould look like a slight. 

I’m none so tired,” said he ; "I can manage all right, 
thank’ee ! ” 

^^If you don’t mind, dear,” Morvenna remarked to the 
schoolmaster, as father seems to be so very tired. I’ll stay 
indoors with him this afternoon.” 

Certainly, my love ! ” said the schoolmaster promptly. 

No, no ! ” rejoined Ezekiel : I waan’t have it — take 
thy walk ! Shaan’t stay indoors for me — why shud’ee ? ” 

^^Very well, father,” replied Morvenna, ^^that will be all 
right. I’ll take a walk in the evening, instead,” she whis- 
pered to the schoolmaster. 

"About five, dear?” he queried. 

Morvenna nodded, and the subject was dropped. 

It was a very pleasant day for the time of the year. True, 
there was a good deal of wind abroad — as there usually is 
in autumn on this bleak peninsula, with its elevation of 
nearly two hundred feet above the sea-line and its exposure 
to the direct and unbroken onslaught of the winds that 
eternally disquiet the Atlantic — but the sunlight, when 
it shone out clear and strong, lighted up the slopes and 
the long ridges of the hills with their powdering of 
granite boulders and their red smear of heather, shone on 
the brown thatched roofs of the tiny cottages scattered 
among the folds and wrinkles of the hills, on the thin 
lines of the stunted hedgerows and on the small patches 
of cultivated land, till the scene, in its immense range 
and its dwarfing perspective, had all its details brought out 
so sharply that it produced, when viewed from one of the 
higher hilltops, something of the impression of an enormous 
plaque. 

The crows were cawing hoarsely as they winged their 
way across the sky, their blunt, ragged wings showing 
up clearly against the blue ; and on the topmost spray 
of a wind-bent hawthorn-bush, which was literally laden 
with brilliant vermilion berries, a robin had perched and 
was trilling cheerfully, its clear, brief song, in spite of its 


A MAN AND HIS BURDENS 171 

autumnal suggestions, being as pleasant to the ear as the 
sight of the bird was to the eye. 

The sky, though full of rapidly moving clouds, in the 
interspaces was of a blue which was brilliant, if a little hard; 
and everywhere — along the hedgerows, above the treetops, 
across the slopes — were the movement and the sound of 
the unceasing wind : its tireless flow, and its equally tireless 
moaning, forming an adjunct to every impression and an 
accompaniment to every tliought. 

As the three wayfarers walked along slowly — the speed 
of the younger folks accommodated, for the nonce, to that 
of Ezekiel — Morvenna and the schoolmaster were looking 
beyond the searing autumn to the spring with its bluebells, 
its soaring larks, and its wealth of greenery ; seeing already 
(and but just ahead of them) its sunshine on their path. But 
Ezekiel saw ahead of him only the hard, black winter — 
the trees leafless, the hedges stripped, the hills seamed and 
patched with snow. Never again would the skylark sing 
in his heart for him : there the owl would hoot drearily and 
the boding raven croak — but music, with the note of hope in 
it, he would never hear again ! 

At the little footbridge over the stream, the schoolmaster 
wished Morvenna and her father good morning — in order 
to free them from the necessity of asking him into the 
cottage at a time that, presumably, would be so inconvenient 
to them — and let the crabber and his daughter go up to the 
house alone. 

At the end of the cottage, Morvenna turned to kiss her 
hand to him smilingly, and the schoolmaster returned the 
salute with a pleasure equal to her own ; after which, he 
leisurely took his way homeward, to spend a quiet after- 
noon dreaming idly among his books. 

Morvenna strongly dissuaded her mother from referring 
to Joe's recent visit to the cottage until Ezekiel had rested 
and had had his dinner. It was, therefore, not until the 
middle of the afternoon that Ezekiel became aware of the 
way in which his son-in-law had reported, and had distorted, 
the brief talk they had had together. 


170 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


affectionately tried to press on him ; fearing, if he did so, that 
his refusal of the schoolmaster’s would look like a slight. 

I’m none so tired,” said he ; I can manage all right, 
thank’ee ! ” 

"If you don’t mind, dear,” Morvenna remarked to the 
schoolmaster, "as father seems to be so very tired. I’ll stay 
indoors with him this afternoon.” 

" Certainly, my love ! ” said the schoolmaster promptly. 

" No, no ! ” rejoined Ezekiel : " I waan’t have it — take 
thy walk ! Shaan’t stay indoors for me — why shud’ee ? ” 

"Very well, father,” replied Morvenna, "that will be all 
right. I’ll take a walk in the evening, instead,” she whis- 
pered to the schoolmaster. 

"About five, dear?” he queried. 

Morvenna nodded, and the subject was dropped. 

It was a very pleasant day for the time of the year. True, 
there was a good deal of wind abroad — as there usually is 
in autumn on this bleak peninsula, with its elevation of 
nearly two hundred feet above the sea-line and its exposure 
to the direct and unbroken onslaught of the winds that 
eternally disquiet the Atlantic — but the sunlight, when 
it shone out clear and strong, lighted up the slopes and 
the long ridges of the hills with their powdering of 
granite boulders and their red smear of heather, shone on 
the brown thatched roofs of the tiny cottages scattered 
among the folds and wrinkles of the hills, on the thin 
lines of the stunted hedgerows and on the small patches 
of cultivated land, till the scene, in its immense range 
and its dwarfing perspective, had all its details brought out 
so sharply that it produced, when viewed from one of the 
higher hilltops, something of the impression of an enormous 
plaque. 

The crows were cawing hoarsely as they winged their 
way across the sky, their blunt, ragged wings showing 
up clearly against the blue ; and on the topmost spray 
of a wind-bent hawthorn-bush, which was literally laden 
with brilliant vermilion berries, a robin had perched and 
was trilling cheerfully, its clear, brief song, in spite of its 


A MAN AND HIS BURDENS 171 

autumnal suggestions, being as pleasant to the ear as the 
sight of the bird was to the eye. 

The sky, though full of rapidly moving clouds, in the 
interspaces was of a blue which was brilliant, if a little hard ; 
and everywhere — along the hedgerows, above the treetops, 
across the slopes — were the movement and the sound of 
the unceasing wind ; its tireless flow, and its equally tireless 
moaning, forming an adjunct to every impression and an 
accompaniment to every thought. 

As the three wayfarers walked along slowly — the speed 
of the younger folks accommodated, for the nonce, to that 
of Ezekiel — Morvenna and the schoolmaster were looking 
beyond the searing autumn to the spring with its bluebells, 
its soaring larks, and its wealth of greenery ; seeing already 
(and but just ahead of them) its sunshine on their path. But 
Ezekiel saw ahead of him only the hard, black winter — 
the trees leafless, the hedges stripped, the hills seamed and 
patched with snow. Never again would the skylark sing 
in his heart for him : there the owl would hoot drearily and 
the boding raven croak — but music, with the note of hope in 
it, he would never hear again ! 

At the little footbridge over the stream, the schoolmaster 
wished Morvenna and her father ^^good morning” — in order 
to free them from the necessity of asking him into the 
cottage at a time that, presumably, would be so inconvenient 
to them — and let the crabber and his daughter go up to the 
house alone. 

At the end of the cottage, Morvenna turned to kiss her 
hand to him smilingly, and the schoolmaster returned the 
salute with a pleasure equal to her own ; after which, he 
leisurely took his way homeward, to spend a quiet after- 
noon dreaming idly among his books. 

Morvenna strongly dissuaded her mother from referring 
to Joe’s recent visit to the cottage until Ezekiel had rested 
and had had his dinner. It was, therefore, not until the 
middle of the afternoon that Ezekiel became aware of the 
way in which his son-in-law had reported, and had distorted, 
the brief talk they had had together. 


172 


EZEKIELS SIN 


He felt, however, too thoroughly beaten in the battle of 
life, too utterly robbed of heart, too helpless through very 
hopelessness, to fight even against a liar and a coward such 
as Joe. 

"He said he wed wait 'tell March, when the baby es 
espected, before he went off,*’ remarked Ezekiel querulously ; 
"but ef he waan’t,” he added, "well . . s'pose he waan’t; 
an’ there’s a’ end of it.” And he humped himself together 
in his chair by the fire as if his vitality were so low that he 
could not even keep warm. 

Es ’a to have the money, then, after all ? ” asked Malva. 

"Lev’ un have it — lev’ un have it,” was all Ezekiel 
said. 

" How about payin’ it back ? ” Malva began, hesitatingly. 

" Never want to see the colour o’ the money agen, so long 
as I live ! Lev’ un keep it, an’ welcome,” said Ezekiel 
gloomily. 

" It’ll onnly bring Drusilla misfortune : I’m sure o’ that ! ” 
said Malva. 

" Can I help it } ” quoth Ezekiel. " Do I thrust it down 
her throt.? Ha’n’t she all’ys ben hankerin’ after it, ever 
sence it ben in the house ? ” 

" She’s thy awn daughter, anyhow,” said Malva, reproach- 
fully. 

" Iss : an’ I wish she’d never touched a penny of it,” 
quoth Ezekiel. " But the mischief’s done now : an’ she must 
beer it as best she can.” 

"Well, her troubles have begun early, poor cheeld!” 
rejoined Malva. 

" Ef wan cud onnly look ahead ! Ef wan cud onnly see 
the end of it all ! ” said Ezekiel. 

" Ay, dear heart ! I do wish it scores o’ times a day ! ” 

"’Tes part o’ the punishment, s’pose,” remarked Ezekiel 
drearily. " Ef I had to live life ovver agen,” he ex- 
claimed, with sudden bitterness, "I wed never try to play 
the part o’ Providence to any wan. They must be jealous of 
us, the Almighty, or Owld Nick, or Somewan. They’re all’ys 
diggin’ traps for us — do what we will.” 


EXHA USTED AFFINITIES 1 73 

Dont'ee talk in that way, faather ! said Malva. " I 
don't like to hear'ee. It do make me blood run cold.” 

Ezekiel made no reply, but stared gloomily into the 
fire. 

Presently Malva ventured again : '' An* when es *a to 

have it ? ” 

Any time. When *a do want it. Don’t matter to me.” 

Any time ? To go off when he like, an’ layve Drusilla } ” 

“How can us stop un — ef the man have made up his 
mind ? ” 

“ By keepin’ the money from un 'tell the baby es born, 
o’ coorse ! ” 

“Well, I layve it to thee to settle. Manage it in thy 
awn way, mawther,” said Ezekiel helplessly. “Don’t mind 
me. I shaan’t interfere.” 

“Then he waan’t have it ’tell the baby es bom, tha’s 
sartin ! Fancy the cheeld havin’ to go through her trouble 
wethout her husband weth her ! No ! I’ll see he do stop 
in England ’tell Drusilla es a mawther. An’ p’raps when 
he’s a faather,” Malva added wistfully, speaking out of the 
mother-heart that leaped at such memories, “ p’raps then he 
waan’t be so wishful to go.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 

EXHAUSTED AFFINITIES 

The brief conversation between Malva and Ezekiel on the 
Saturday afternoon, proved to be more pregnant with con- 
sequences than either of them had dreamed of. 

Early in the following week, when Ezekiel was again 
at sea with the fishing fleet, Joe compelled Drusilla (most 
decidedly against her will) to go down to the cove and 
learn what had taken place there. She was to find out 
whether Ezekiel had been told that they had called for 
the money; and, if so, how he had received the news 


174 


EZEKIELS SIN 


and what he had said. Above all, Joe insisted to her 
that she must find out what likelihood there was of his 
getting the money promptly — say, in two or three weeks 
at the farthest, he suggested. That Ezekiel would lend 
him the money, Joe pretended to take for granted; again 
dinning it in Drusilla’s ears that her father had promised 
to do so ; and that he would be expected to keep his 
word. As he would be told, if it were necessary ! Joe 
added, in the tone of a threat. 

Drusilla, accordingly, went down to her father’s cottage, 
and there heard (without surprise) how weakly Ezekiel had 
yielded in the matter, and how Malva then had taken the 
affair into her own hands. 

But the position her mother had taken up, and from 
which she was determined not to budge, commended itself 
to Drusilla at this particular juncture much less than it 
would have done a week or two ago; when her thoughts 
on certain matters had not so definitely taken form. She 
recognised the affectionate care that had dictated her 
mother’s protection of her; but whether she felt as glad 
at the imagined result as she presumably was expected to 
be, was something she was not at all anxious to be cross- 
examined on. 

'^’Tes a poor look-out for’ee,” said Malva to her; '^thy 
man wantin’ to be off an’ layve’ee — an’ ’fore the cheeld do 
come, too ! ” 

Lev’ un,” said Drusilla, carelessly. 

" ’Tes aisier to lev’ un go than to git un back, thee’ll find, 
me cheeld.” 

'' What can I do I caan’t do nawthin’. Lev’ un go, ef 
he do want to.” 

^^Well, ef a young wife, like thee, caan't keep a man 
home — an’ surely thee’rt young enough to plaise anywan,” 
said her mother, ^Hhen ’tes no use talkin’ ’bout the matter, 
sim to me. The world he do want to see ; an’ he waan’t 
rest ’tell he do see it, s’pose.” 

Drusilla sat silent ; restlessly biting her lip, and nervously 


EXHA USTED AFFINITIES 1 75 

twisting and untwisting the end of her apron in her 
hands. 

'^Thee’rt onlucky in thy bargain^ me cheeld/’ Malva said 
presently. I b’leeve ’tes all the fau’t o’ that money thee 
furnished on : an’ the money that thee spent in dressin’ up 
for’n at the fust. That money es ill-wished, I do b’leeve/’ 
she insisted solemnly. ‘‘ Better thee’d never touched a 
penny of it, me cheeld.” 

Drusilla’s eyes wandered from the toes of her boots to 
the lime-ash floor, as she remarked slowly, and much as if 
thinking aloud, ^^Iss, I’m beginnin’ to be haaf afraid of it 
meself. I’ve thought a lot ovver what thee said about it 
before : an’ there do sim to me railly to be a dayle o’ truth 
in it. More than I thought at fust, when thee mentioned it 
to me, mother. It do play on me mind often an’ often, 
when I’m alone.” 

Iss ; ’tes goin* to be the ruin of us — that money ! ” said 
Malva gloomily. 

When Drusilla brought back to her husband Malva’s 
emphatic message that he could have the money as a free 
gift on the day the baby was born ; but not a day before, 
not even as a loan ; Joe fell into such a black and sullen fit 
of temper that Drusilla was almost afraid to stay in the house 
with him : she had a kind of vague, frightened feeling that 
he might perhaps murder her in her sleep. 

^^Thee’ll all of’ee regret it!” said Joe, a latent menace 
in his tones. ^^I gov’ee the chaance — all of ’ee — now thee 
must look out for theeselves !” 

What are’ee drivin’ at ? ” asked Drusilla, watching him 
uneasily. 

" Ask on ! ” sneered the little man, glowering at her 
wrathfully. 

‘‘ Don’t b’leeve thee knaw theeself,” quoth Drusilla 
bluntly ; her recent feeling of contempt for him again 
asserting itself, as she watched the little man strutting up 
and down the kitchen, with his hair bristling with anger 
and his face as red as a hollyhock. Do what she would, she 
felt as powerless against this loathing contempt for him as if 


176 EZEKIEUS SIN 

it had been an inherited aversion, rooted deep in the recesses 
of her nature. 

“ Wan thing I do knaw, ef thee*d like to knaw it too/' 
sneered Joe, eagerly seizing the opportunity to insult her, 
^'an* that es, that when I was goin’ ovver the church-stile 
weth'ee, I wished ’twas weth somewan else — an’ somewan 
thee knaw well ! ” 

Drusilla coloured violently, from the nape of the neck to 
the temples; her ears growing almost as red as blood at the 
insult. 

But she restrained, by a visible effort, the reply that rose 
to her lips. In order, however, to find some outlet for 
her emotion, she began busily to plait the hem of her 
apron with her fingers : aware of such a passionate animus 
within her that self-control had to be muscular as well as 
mental. 

“Tha’s wan thing I do knaw,” he repeated, enjoying her 
discomposure : an’ anawther thing I can giss at. An’ tha’s 
— who robbed the sailor I” he cried to her tauntingly. ^^Who 
robbed the dead man from the Gannet — caii’ee tell me } ” 
he sneered, flinging the question at her with a vicious 
emphasis that made her start. 

Drusilla rose to her feet, and stood fronting him erect 
and rigid. But he noticed, with secret gloating, that she 
pressed her hand to her side tightly and seemed to gasp 
for breath. 

Go on, Joe Rosevear ! ” said she, looking him straight 
in the eyes. There was a reserve of force behind the words 
which gave them a value by no means inherent in them. 
But of this Joe, in his eager malice, was entirely unconscious. 
For every mind has its peculiar quality of ignorance ; a 
quality as distinctly personal to itself, as the reach of a man’s 
vision is to his eyes. 

Iss ! Tell me ! Can’ee ? ” and he fronted her as upright 
as he could manage to stretch himself ; but, still, lower than 
the big blonde woman by a head. 

'^Go on, Joe Rosevear!” Drusilla repeated, with terrible 
calmness : and her eyes seemed slowly turning to steel. 


EXHAUSTED AFFINITIES 


177 


'^Thy faather, warn't it — sly owld Ezekiel Trevaskis ...” 

Drusilla snatched up the heavy whip that lay on the chair 
beside her, and dealt him a blow across the face that made 
him stagger. 

Joe howled out an oath of unproducible profanity, and as 
he stumbled, half blinded, against the kitchen table, with a 
sudden burst of energy (whose unexpectedness simply ap- 
palled him) Drusilla rushed at him and began lashing him 
over the head and shoulders, over the thighs, over the legs, 
over his hands thrown up to shield him : lashing and thrash- 
ing and belabouring him anywhere and everywhere, and 
that with a speed and passion that he literally could not 
stand against. 

Joe tried to look around — to grope around — for something 
to repel her with. But the terrible lash every instant was 
cutting and welting and stinging him, was dazing and 
blinding and bewildering him to a pitch of terror that 
almost maddened him. 

Dancing and skipping and trying to dodge her, and 
yelling the while like a veritable maniac, the little man at 
last, in a perfect panic at the fury of the onslaught, took to 
his heels and bolted out into the road. 

After him rushed Drusilla — bare-headed, whip in hand. 

Joe glanced over his shoulder and, seeing her coming, 
pelted along the highway as fast as his legs could carry 
him. 

And to the very door of the mill Drusilla pursued him in 
her magnificent fury; her draperies billowing and flying, 
her hair unfastened and streaming wildly. 

As he reached the mill he could hear her behind him, 
panting loudly and heavily ; and into the mill he darted, 
like a rat into its hole, and slammed and bolted the great 
door with a speed and energy so amazing that it was 
certain only sheer desperation could have wrought him 
up to it. 

Standing in the windy roadway, with her long brown 
hair streaming over her shoulders, her eyes blazing angrily, 
and her face full of colour, Drusilla broke his whip across 

M 


178 


EZEKIELS SIN 


her knee and flung it into the hedge^ and then — trembling 
now in every nerve with excitement — she turned and slowly 
and unsteadily retraced her steps to her cottage, feeling 
as weakly hysterical as a girl. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE 

About ten that night, Joe came slouching into the cottage 
with the pedlar at his heels. 

Joe's face, still red and welted from the whip, was scowl- 
ingly dark and with an expression of almost venomous 
malignancy in it ; but Drusilla was much less discom- 
posed at this than she was at the sight of his sinister com- 
panion. 

Had Joe entered the cottage with the traditional devil 
at his side — horned and hoofed and tailed, and with his 
pitchfork in his hand — Drusilla could not have been much 
more astounded. 

She stared at the two men, for a moment, with a glance 
almost of stupefaction. 

" Take a sait," said Joe to Tom. 

Do’ee object to smokin', missis ? " said the pedlar to 
Drusilla, as he seated himself near the fire. 

Light up, man, ef thee want to!" said Joe to him 
roughly. 

Not ef the missis do object," quoth the pedlar, with 
leering politeness. ^^Fust place, an’ fust consideration, to 
the ladies, have alTys ben my motter, ever sence I cud 
toddle." 

Smoke, ef thee want to ; I don't mind,” replied Drusilla 
indifferently. 

Producing his pipe and his tin tobacco-box, the pedlar 
laid them on the table. Then he took out some ^^roll" 
tobacco, which he proceeded to chop up with his pocket- 


A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE 179 

knife, and afterwards crumbled carefully between his black 
and dirty fingers. 

Brasilia watched him, all the time, with fascinated intent- 
ness : J oe, the while, watching her almost as intently. 

Having crumbled-up enough tobacco for his purpose, the 
pedlar, very carefully, filled his black, dirty clay, and then, 
as carefully taking a single match out of his waistcoat-pocket, 
struck it on the sole of his boot and “lighted up,” with 
gusto, blowing around him, for a second or two, a perfect 
cloud of smoke. 

“ Want supper ? ” Drusilla asked her husband, curtly. 

“ No,” growled Joe ; flinging the negative at her as if it 
were a missile. 

After this, there was silence in the kitchen for several 
minutes. 

Joe sat staring sullenly at the fire; the pedlar smoked 
peacefully, his hands clasped across his waistcoat ; and 
Drusilla, at the opposite end of the kitchen, sat watching 
them both with uneasy curiosity. 

After about a quarter of an hour of this silence, Drusilla 
rose from her seat and remarked to her husband, “’Tes 
'most ’leven, b’leeve : I’m goin’ to bed.” 

“Go!” growled Joe, in the savagest bass he was cap- 
able of. 

“ Good night,” said Drusilla, to the impassive little 
pedlar. 

Good night to’ee, missis I good night ! ” said the 
pedlar; jumping up briskly from his chair, and bowing to 
her with a grotesque politeness that made her lips curl 
contemptuously. 

Once in the bedroom, Drusilla did not venture to undress. 
Taking off her boots, she sat down on the side of the bed. 
and, blowing out the candle, waited patiently the course of 
events — her nerves tingling with agitation. 

Below, in the draughty kitchen, when Drusilla had gone 
upstairs, the two men drew their chairs closer together, and 
immediately began to talk earnestly, though in whispers. 
They were evidently taking up the threads of a conversation 


180 


EZEKIELS SIN 


that had been broken off when they had entered the cottage ; 
and their renewal of it now was, as evidently^ with the 
keenest interest. 

The kitchen, as is usual in the cottages, being un ceiled, 
and the planks that covered it in (and that formed also the 
floor of the bedroom) having between them occasional inter- 
stices through which one could easily have dropped a penny, 
Drusilla, as she sat motionless in the darkness of the bed- 
room, could hear the thin rustling sound of the voices 
underneath her, and occasionally, when the talkers got a 
little loud in their excitement, could clearly catch a word, 
or even a fragment of a sentence. 

But she was quite unable, sitting here on the edge of 
the bed, to grasp a sentence connectedly ; or even to seize 
a clue as to what they talked of so eagerly, and not only 
so eagerly, but with such unflagging self-restraint. The fact 
that they were controlling themselves with such deliberate 
watchfulness, as was evidenced by the way in which they 
kept their voices at the whispering-pitch, being in itself 
something that disquieted her greatly. 

She slid softly from the edge of the bed, and, as noiselessly 
as possible, stretched herself at full-length on the floor of 
the bedroom, placing at one moment her ear, and at another 
her eye, to the widest interstice she could manage to discover 
between the planks. 

Even now, however, she could hear but little : and that 
little so indistinctly that to make sense of it was im- 
possible. 

She caught words like paper,” and tickets,” and " hill” 
somebody or something; confused sounds that might be 
streamers, or steamers, or even schemers; a phrase like bring 
them to their senses ;” and a broken sentence which she took 
to be, "iw me power an *ull have to do it” 

Presently, she heard the unmistakable chink of coins; 
and, on hastily putting her eye to the opening, she per- 
ceived the pedlar counting out some sovereigns on the 
table. 

Then he produced a long sheet of paper, closely covered 


A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE 


181 


with writing, which he spread Out on the table beside the 
little heap of coins. 

Pointing to the foot of the paper with his finger, he 
seemed to be informing Joe that he must do something — 
probably, that he must sign there. 

At this point, she caught a word like witnesses ” repeated 
emphatically, and, on putting her ear to the space, she heard 
the pedlar remark, carelessly, that he could always get those 
for the price of a pint of beer. 

Unhappily, in the interval while Drusilla had her ear at 
the opening, she missed seeing the end of this episode of 
the coins. 

When she again applied her eye to the space between 
the boards, the coins and the paper alike had disappeared. 

After this she heard references — that, to her, were vague 
to exasperation — concerning clothes and lines ” and 
something that sounded like a. a dress.’* And then they 
fell to whispering again, almost into each other’s ears. 

Presently she caught a remark from Joe, "... to collect 
a hill . , . good mind to do it.” And the pedlar’s, " Iss, that I 
wed ! ” spoken out with incautious loudness. 

Suddenly and, to her, with a startling unexpectedness, she 
heard the clock in the corner of the kitchen clang out the 
hour : and was surprised to find it was already midnight. 

The two men, evidently, must have been a little surprised 
also ; for she heard their feet and chairs begin to move 
noisily, blending with a medley of other sounds so confusing 
to her in their tangle, that she took her ear from the crack 
and applied to it her eye instead. 

In the interval, since she had previously looked down into 
the kitchen, everything had changed, as far as the plotters 
were concerned. 

She managed to glimpse Joe and the pedlar close to the 
door, and then the door was opened softly, and as softly 
closed again. 

Drusilla sprang to her feet instantly and ran to the window, 
to see if she could discern the two men in the darkness, and 
could discover in what direction they were going. 


182 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


But the clouded October night was as dark as the bottom 
of a mine-shaft, and she could see nothing but the thick, 
impenetrable blackness, and hear nothing except the wind, 
ever moaning unceasingly, and, she fancied (confusing her 
sensations in her excitement) the tumultuous thud, thud, thud 
of her heart. 


CHAPTER XXIX 

THE IRONY OF A SACRAMENT 

As Drusilla sat here in the darkness, waiting to see what 
would happen, almost unconsciously she fell to reviewing 
her life (at least, to looking all round it to the best of 
her ability) : but always with a bitter antagonism towards 
her husband, and with a bias, equally as pronounced, in the 
direction of self-defence. 

It was as a question of marriage rights, not as a problem 
of the affections, that the deep and bitter quarrel with 
her husband presented itself to Drusilla's thoughts to-night. 
And it was for a fight and a defence on these lines that 
she endeavoured to prepare herself. Love was out of the 
question : and affection was beside the mark. It was to 
be a battle of wills as if for a door-key — not a duel about 
hearts. 

As she sat here brooding over her wrongs and perplexities, 
the stormy gloom of her thoughts was suddenly lighted up 
by a vivid flash of suggestion — and her whole frame seemed 
to quiver in response. 

She woald leave her husband — she would apply for a 
“ separation order,” and would take up life again practically 
as a single woman. Yes ! that she would ! On this she was 
determined ! 

The idea, having once entered her mind, took possession 
of it like the scriptural 'Tegion of devils.” The change of 
attitude wrought by the simple acceptance of the suggestion 
was, indeed, so swift and wide as almost to be startling. 


THE IRONY OF A SACRAMENT 


183 


All the wrongs and indignities she had suffered during 
her married life, at once became reasons approving her 
resolve ; and any thoughts opposing it, or even questioning 
its wisdom, she thrust under foot and scouted and flouted 
passionately. 

But her dogged determination to fight the battle on these 
lines, held its ground with indifferent success as the night 
crawled away sluggishly. 

The whisper of Fear in her ears was enough to unnerve 
her, as she sat here hour after hour wondering, with rest- 
less anxiety, where her husband had gone, and what he 
might be doing now, wandering out in the black stormy 
night with the pedlar — the tempting gold and the mysterious 
paper as an evil bond between them : almost as if the little 
oddity were Old Nick himself! 

No sooner had she begun to lose her nerve in the matter, 
than her bravery seemed to ooze away as if through an open 
wound : and she had to take her courage in both her hands 
and hold it up with a visible effort, that it might face, with- 
out collapse, the fusillade of the hours. 

Towards morning, when the grey of dawn began to steal 
across the world, Drusilla went down to the kitchen and 
waited there for the day to break ; standing motionless at 
the open door of the cottage — a set, tragic look marring 
the face usually so attractive. 

About sunrise, she lighted the fire and made herself some 
breakfast, of which she now felt greatly in need ; and then 
she started cleaning up the cottage for the day. 

The wind was roaring loudly among the trees in the rear 
of the cottage, bending their great tops all in one direction, 
and shaking their ruthless branches with a savage energy 
that stripped from them the leaves — the living as well as 
the dead — and drifted them hither and thither and to and 
fro restlessly : whirling them in eddies on the cartway, 
driving them fluttering into the hedges, trundling them 
along the ground with a hopping movement like a flock of 
sparrows, and sending them scurrying across the grass like 
so many mice. The smoke, trying to rise up from the great 


184 


EZEKIELS SIN 


stone chimney,, was beaten down and swept abroad across 
the high-pitched roof, till it poured over the thatch like so 
much [water, and then vanished into nothingness among the 
branches of the trees : and everywhere around the cottage 
there was a sense of stir and disquiet ; the flutter, the move- 
ment, the rattling of windows and doors, the swirl of leaves 
and flying twigs, branches threshing together noisily, and the 
general air of unsettledness and discomfort which the wind 
brings with it in the more turbulent of its moods. 

Try as she would, and she made more than one effort, 
Drusilla felt unable to continue her work. Every now and 
then Fear sent its prick through her heart : and she felt 
like one paralysed as to outward manifestations, but with the 
brain the while all the more vividly alive because of such 
lack of interpretative expression. 

Until she could see Joe, or hear something about him 
— know where he was, or what he had been doing — it 
would be impossible for her to settle down to her house- 
hold duties. 

Twenty times she went to the cottage door, to see if he 
were visible in any direction, but up to eight o’clock he 
had failed to appear, and surmises strange as well as sinister 
began to flit through her mind respecting him. 

Shortly after eight, Joe came slouching into the cottage, 
with his face, as before, as black as a thundercloud. 

Without addressing a word to her, he tramped heavily 
upstairs, neither taking off* his hat nor his carter’s frock. 

While he was up in the bedroom, Drusilla bustled about 
busily preparing breakfast for him. She thus failed to 
notice how exceptionally long he remained abovestairs, 
seeing that, from the first, he was fully dressed for his 
work. But she did notice that he appeared to be making 
an unusual racket : the thought crossing her mind, casually, 
that surely he could not be fool enough to be kicking about 
the furniture out of spite. 

When he came tramping downstairs, she seemed to fancy 
that, in some way, he looked a little nattier than usual. But 
the fancy was only momentary : and she did not follow it up. 


THE IRONY OF A SACRAMENT 


185 


"Thy breakfast's ready/' she remarked to him, nodding 
towards the table. 

" Don't want none," said he sullenly. 

And he slouched straight across the kitchen to the wide- 
open door. 

Drusilla stared hard at him, and was again aware that 
there was about him an air of unusual spruceness. But for 
the soiled carter's frock, his heavy boots and his greasy hat, 
she would have fancied that he actually had on his Sunday 
clothes. But, as before, the idea merely passed through 
her mind fleetingly: and her attention almost immediately 
was diverted into another channel. 

"Shaan't be in to dinner," growled Joe, as he crossed 
the threshold. 

"Want tay earlier?" 

"Wait, an' find out." 

And, with that, he tramped heavily out through the 
garden, slammed its gate behind him with quite unneces- 
sary violence, and slouched off sullenly in the direction of 
the mill. 

Not from the door, but through the window, Drusilla 
watched him out of sight. Indeed, she stood staring 
through the panes, in a brown study, long after the white 
carter’s frock had disappeared. * 

The mass of his sullenness, rather than its quality — the 
heavy, unrelieved stubbornness of its pressure, as if no power 
on earth could ever move or conquer it — began now, at last, 
somewhat to appal her: even though she had decided (and 
again and again reiterated it) to free herself from her ties to 
him with as little delay as possible. 

She w-ondered what he would do to her when she applied 
for a separation order. That he would attempt physical 
violence towards her, if he saw the chance of doing so success- 
fully, she felt a great and assured dread of: and the horror 
of battling with him again after the fashion of yesterday, 
made her flesh shudder, as with nausea, and her heart grow 
faint. 

The morning was well advanced when Drusilla, having 


186 EZEKIELS SIN 

finislied her work in the kitchen, went upstairs to dust and 

tidy up/’ 

As she put her foot on the landing and glanced casually 
into the bedroom, she perceived that its contents were in 
the most reckless disorder : almost everything, in fact, seem- 
ing to be topsy-turvy. 

The chest-of-drawers, apparently, had been ransacked from 
top to bottom : all its drawers were pulled out, and the con- 
tents were tossed over and tumbled about anyhow. In one 
corner of the room, Joe’s dusty working-clothes were thrown 
together in a heap, and in another corner she found her best 
hat and her Sunday dress (they were those she had worn at 
her wedding in June) slashed and hacked all over as if with 
a pocket-knife. 

Drusilla was almost stunned with surprise. She put her 
hand to her side, and seated herself, white and gasping, at 
the edge of the bed. It was less as if a man had been 
in the room, than as if a great ape had been rummaging 
through it and tossing the things about in wanton mali- 
ciousness. 

Suddenly she thought of the few shillings that she had 
been saving towards the rent and the expenses of her con- 
finement. She went hurriedly to the corner of the drawer 
where the money should have been — it was only thirteen 
and sixpence in all — and found, as she had dreaded, that the 
little heap of silver had entirely disappeared. 

Drusilla felt, instinctively, that she was face to face with 
the most serious crisis in her life. She had a vague suspicion 
that there might be in it the elements of a catastrophe. 
But in what form, or on what lines, the catastrophe would 
overtake her, she was unable to imagine. It showed how 
deeply rooted was her horror of the man, that the thought 
kept again and again recurring to her ; Would Joe try, 
one night, to surprise and murder her } Was he even now 
endeavouring to arrange matters for this end ; and then for 
a secret flight to the other side of the world } 

Drusilla thought of flying down to the cove to her mother, 
to confide to her her troubles and disquieting suspicions. 


THE IRONY OF A SACRAMENT 


187 


But she decided presently that she would wait and see first 
how things went. Her mother’s handful of troubles was 
heavy enough already ; and Drusilla^ having made her worries 
for herself^ must bear, as best she could, the exasperating 
burden of them. 

It seemed as if the perplexities and unhappinesses of her 
married life were beginning to develop in Drusilla that graver 
conscience that hitherto had been dormant, or, at least, voice- 
less and inoperative : seemed even probable that presently, 
when she should become a mother, her nature might deepen 
as much in sympathetic womanliness as it would strengthen 
in its protective instincts — should her chastening continue to 
the end. But should happiness or pleasure again subtly relax 
the fibre of it, it was as likely as not that her nature might 
remain as selfish, and as frankly sensuous, as it had been at 
any time from her sixteenth year to her twenty-sixth. 

As she slowly realised in her mind the significant fact that 
Joe had gone off in his Sunday clothes (concealed carefully 
from her notice under his carter’s frock) and with her small 
savings stowed away in his pocket, Drusilla presently began 
to wonder whether he meant to desert her straight away. 
The strange interview at midnight between Joe and the 
pedlar — with the sovereigns and the paper for signature, 
the mysterious whisperings and mutterings — followed up 
by Joe’s all-night absence from the cottage, and that in 
the company of the evil little pedlar: all these, taken in 
conjunction with his conduct this morning, appeared to 
indicate that her husband had something desperate in his 
mind : something so alarmingly unusual, and out of the 
common run of affairs, that it seemed to point to no less 
than an entire break with his past. Whether this break 
would come in the shape of his merely deserting her, or 
of his murdering her and afterwards taking to flight, was 
something Drusilla found herself unable to decide. And 
her anxiety and nervous restlessness became consequently 
almost unendurable. 

As the day wore on, Drusilla found herself quite unable 
to stand the strain of this disquietude. 


188 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Finally, between three and four o’clock, she made up her 
mind to go down to the schoolhouse and intercept Morvenna 
as she was coming out of school. 

Drusilla decided to tell her sister all that had happened, 
and to ask her to come up and stay with her, say, till eight 
or nine o’clock ; at any rate, until as late in the evening as 
she could manage : the schoolmaster to come to fetch her 
and to see her safe home. 

Morvenna was not particularly astonished to see Drusilla ; 
but she, literally, was astounded at the tale her sister 
told her. 

Indeed, the news disquieted her to an extent that reacted 
on Drusilla : so that in the end the two sisters, feeling each 
nervously hysterical, decided that they dared not face alone, 
and unknown to their mother, a situation so grave and so 
full of menacing possibilities. 

Malva’s reception of the news, though far less flutteringly 
emotional, was to the full as seriously significant as was 
Morvenna’s. 

She decided that she would accompany Morvenna to 
Drusilla’s cottage and would remain there as late as possible : 
if need be, all night. 

The three women accordingly took their way together to 
the lonely little cottage at the edge of Choone bottoms — 
its loneliness being to Drusilla now one of its terrors — 
and there, in the narrowing dusk of the windy autumn 
afternoon, they waited the course of events as patiently 
as they could : feeling the while almost as pitifully small 
and dejected as a group of slaves sitting in the dust of 
the arena at some great and tragic spectacle in the days of 
ancient Rome. 


A TROUBLED WATCH 


189 


CHAPTER XXX 

A TROUBLED WATCH 

About nine o'clock, they heard a man’s step in the garden. 

Here he comes ! ” cried Morvenna, starting from her 
chair. 

Malva’s face became grave, and Drusilla’s almost rigid in 
its settled tragic expression. 

But the man, whoever it was, instead of entering the 
cottage, came to a stop on the step and knocked respect- 
fully at the door. 

Morvenna walked up to the door timidly ; and opened it 
slowly and almost fearfully, her every nerve shaking. 

But it was only Mr. Pengelly, the miller, after all. 

On perceiving, by the dim candle-light, the three women 
waiting expectant in the little kitchen, where he had only 
thought of seeing Drusilla watching solitarily for her hus- 
band, the miller was somewhat taken aback. It was almost 
as though they had had a prevision of the matter that was 
agitating him, or either knew, or surmised, something more 
than he was aware of. And the miller, for a moment, felt 
so uncertain as to his attitude, that what at first had been 
perplexity charged strongly with sympathy, became per- 
plexity with a touch in it not unlike suspicion. 

^^Knaw wha’s become o’ Joe, Mrs. Rosevear.^*” he asked 
abruptly. 

^^No,” replied Drusilla, rising and going to the door to 
him. Esn’a at the mill, then ? ” 

The miller shook his head. 

Have anything happened, do’ee think ? Es ’a gone 
anywhere weth a load } What time ded ’a layve the mill } 
I ha’n’t see’d un sence breakfast.” 

Ha’n’t see’d un, meself, sence this mornin’,” said the 
miller, still watching her closely and a little suspiciously. 

He went to Penzaance weth a load o’ flour, an’ he was 


190 


EZEKIEVS SIN 


to call an’ collect a bill down Chy’ndour for me (thirteen 
pounds, eight an’ sexpence, the bill was) an* then he was 
to come straight home agen — no awther stop. I ha’n’t 
clapped eyes on im sence — have thee } ” 

No : he ha’n’t ben here. Ha’n’t see'd sight or sign of 
un sence breakfast.” 

Ben drinkin’ heavy, have’a, lately — do’ee happen to 
knaw He looked all cut up an’ bruised about the face, 
like : as ef he’d ben in a fight, or somethin’.” 

Not that I knaw of,” replied Drusilla ; a marked con- 
fusion visible on her countenance. And then she answered 
boldly — a sudden wave of passion making her defiantly con- 
scious that Joe’s reputation was of infinitely less importance 
to her than was the idea that the miller’s confidence in her, 
at any rate, should remain unshaken — He was out all 
night, last night, weth the pedlar. Dedn’ come home ’tell 
after eight this mornin’. An’ then he never touched his 
breakfast — not so much as a bite or sup. ‘Shaant be home 
to dennevy he said ; an’ sulked off. An’ when I asked 
what time he wed be in to tay, he merely grunted, ^ Waity 
an Jind out! 

Had a quarrel, have’ee — you two ? ” asked the miller. 

Again Drusilla decided for the truth. She could not en- 
dure the thought that the miller should presently discover 
that she 'had been deceiving him. He, at least, should be- 
lieve in her frankly : and should have a reason for his trust. 
** Iss,” she replied, looking him full in the face, we’ve had 
a quarrel, an’ a bad wan : ’bout as bad as it cud be.” 

Malva listened to her daughter with nervous anxiety. She 
doubted the wisdom of these intimate revelations to a mere 
acquaintance : the secretive instinct of the peasant inclining 
her strongly to silence on a matter so purely personal. Of 
her daughter’s attitude towards the miller, she had not 
the faintest idea : and she was restlessly anxious to bring the 
interview to a close. 

“ Eh ? like that, es it } ” said the miller, musingly. May 
be somethin’ in that, then : likely as not. Ha’n’t cut the 
country, have’a — do’ee think } ” 


A TROUBLED WATCH 191 

‘‘ Don’t knaw no more than the cheeld unborn ! ” replied 
Drusilla. 

^^Weth the pedlar — Tom the Hangman — dedn’ee say? 
Out all nighty last night, weth un, was ’a ? ” 

^^Iss,” replied Drusilla. ^^The pedlar come in weth un, 
somewhere about ten, an’ I went off to bed ; an’ left them 
here in the kitchen, smokin’ an’ whisp’rin’. An’ just after 
twelve — I knaw the time ’cause I heerd the clock strike 
just afore — he an’ the li’l pedlar went off together. 
Where they went, I don’t knaw ; but I was wakin’ all 
night, an’ he dedn’ come in ’tell ’bout eight o’clock this 
mornin’. What he was doin’ all night — out weth that li’l 
object — I don’t knaw no more than the dead ! ” she added 
solemnly. 

Um ! I’m afeerd ’tes a bad job, then. Ef he got that 
money o’ mine, likely as not, he’s gone off weth it. Though, 
what the devil he’ve done weth the waggon an’ bosses ...” 
and the miller scratched his head in dire perplexity. ^^’Tes 
a mixed job this — a terrible mixed job ! Good mind to go 
in to Penzaance,” he remarked, “ an’ see ef I can find out 
anything about it.” 

Do’ee think ’twed be any good ? ” Drusilla ventured. 

“ Any good ? Bless the woman ! I must look after me 
property, mustn’t I ? Nowan else waan’t, ef I don’t, will 
they ? The waggon an’ bosses — he caan’t ha’ gone off an’ 
sowld they, s’ pose ? Darn it all ! Iss ! off I’ll go — an’ that 
to wance ! Will’ee be stayin’ here to-night, Mrs. Trevas- 
kis?” he asked, now addressing Malva, who was standing 
silent in the background. Ef so, an’ thee’d like to wait 
up ’tell I come back. I’ll come here to wance — whatever time 
it es — an’ lev’ee knaw what I can manage to find out, ef 
anything.” 

Iss ; I shall stay here to-night weth Drusilla — me an’ 
Morvenna do mayne to keep her company — an’ we’ll wait up 
’tell thee come back, Mester Pengelly.” 

Right ! I’m glad to hear it ! Thank’ee, Mrs. Trevaskis ! 
’Scuse my want o’ manners, swearin’ ’fore the li’l maid, 
but I’m main puzzled — darned ef I arn’t ! ” remarked the 


192 EZEKIELS SIN 

miller. And off he hastened ; biting his lips, his brow knit 
perplexedly. 

He went back to the mill for a few minutes, to see that 
everything was safe there, and to get his dog to accompany 
him on his long and lonely tramp — to Penzance and back 
would be a matter of a dozen miles, and it was now, as near 
as possible, a quarter to ten — and then he set off rapidly 
along the great black highway : which, at an elevation of 
nearly two hundred feet above the sea, was exposed for 
miles to the roaring wind from the Atlantic, without any 
other shelter than that of the hedgerows, and here and 
there, at intervals, a stunted clump of trees. 

The black stormy night was persistently starless — the vast 
dome of the sky being thickly veiled with clouds — and the 
miller, as he tramped along in the darkness, began to feel 
the dreary loneliness of the highway affect his thoughts in 
fifty different ways. 

For the miller was, in many respects, a typical Cornishman, 
having in his veins the blood of peasants none of whom, at 
least for many generations, had passed beyond the bounds 
of the Cornish land : being as strictly homekeeping folk as if 
the edict of Saxon Egbert, fulminated against them more 
than a thousand years ago — that a Cornishman setting foot 
on Saxon ground should be instantly ‘‘ done to death,’" like a 
mere wild animal — were even yet in force against the intract- 
able people whose neighbours knew them only .to fear and hate 
them. And always, to the imagination of the Celtic peasant, 
under the gross and materialising darkness, a brood of sinister 
and shadowy presences come creeping forth from the ruins 
of buildings, from the lonely places where crimes have been 
committed, and from other waste and haunted spots, or project 
themselves visibly from the atavistic memory and start into 
life as hallucinations — phantasmal ivill o’ the wisps of thought. 
And the miller to-night, in spite of his many perplexities, 
felt so full of the superstitions that were a part of his blood- 
gift, that if any one, coming behind him, had suddenly clapped 
him on the shoulder, he would have started and trembled as 
violently as one of his frightened mares. 


A TROUBLED WATCH 


193 


He had walked for almost three miles without meeting 
a single person, when suddenly he thought he heard in the 
distance the rumble and jingle of a waggon, and the sound 
of horses’ feet. 

If the dog had not begun to bark, he would almost have 
fancied, in the present morbid state of his imagination, that 
it was the mysterious Death Coach, with its headless horses, 
that was now coming towards him through the windy dark- 
ness — the hill he was descending being a reputed haunt 
of this horror. But the familiar barking of the dog, as at 
sounds it seemed to recognise, steadied his nerves more than 
he would have been willing to have owned. 

Was it Joe, after all } and had he excited himself for 
nothing ? The miller, in the first moments of doubtful relief, 
was aware of a tumult of thoughts that confused him irritat- 
ingly. If it were Joe coming back, then that hope about 
Drusilla . . . still, it would mean that the waggon and horses 
and the money were all right . . . but that other thought 
. . . darn it all ! the devil take the things ! he hardly knew 
whether to be glad, or sorry, at it. And he quickened his 
rapid pace almost to a run, that he might set his doubts at 
rest with the least possible delay. 

Hi, there ! Who’s that ? ” shouted the miller, as soon 
as he considered he was near enough to be within hail of 
the waggon. 

Aw ! tkeej Mester Pengelly, es it ? ” came from the 
waggon in the cackling voice of the pedlar. ^^’Tes all 
right ! Whoa ! ” (to the horses) Whoa, you ! ” And the 
pedlar, still vociferating at the team, pulled up, with a noisy 
jingling and rattling, just as the miller came abreast of the 
horses’ heads. 

Where’s Joe.^^” demanded the miller, coming to the 
front of the waggon and shouting up at the pedlar. 

Git up, Mester Pengelly, will’ee ? Ef I may be so bowld 
as to invite’ee into thy awn waggon. Git up, sir ! Le’me 
lend’ee a hand!” And the pedlar, having obsequiously 
assisted the miller to the seat beside him, handed over to 
him the reins and the whip. 

N 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


194 

The miller started the horses again, and repeated his 
question angrily. ^^Wha’s become o’ Joe! Why esn he 
here ! What possessed un to layve the bosses an’ waggon 
to thee ” 

^^Iss, true, Mester Pengelly: very true, sir! O’ coorse, 
Joe’s place ’tes to be weth the bosses : but a man caan’t 
be in two places, can ’a } ” 

" What’ee mayne, man } Spaik out plainly — darn’ee ! 

^^Well, b’leeve Joe ben an’ cut the country.” 

^^Cut the country.? How.? Drunk, es ’a? — in clink, 
man ? — dead ? — wha’s become of un .? ” 

“I said, ^cut the country,’ b’leeve, dedn’ I, Mester Pen- 
gelly ? A man caan’t cut the country ef he’s drunk, or in 
clink, can’a ? An’, ef he’s dead, well, he’s dead, an’ the 
devil ’ll look arter un. He waan’t be very likely to cut the 
country then” 

Where’s ’a gone .? ** 

To America, b’leeve — ^like the rest o’ them.” 

“ WJiere ded ’a git the money from .? ” 

How do I know .? He seemed to be putty flush. Ovver 
twenty pounds in ’es pocket, so he towld me.” 

“ He got that money o’ mine, s’pose, down Chy’ndour .? ” 
Don’t knaw nawthin’ ’bout no money o’ thine, Mester 
Pengelly. Joe never said nawthin’ to me 'bout the subject.” 
Where ded thee come across un .? ” 

“ Down Chy’ndour, b’leeve. He’d strepped off his frock 
an’ got on his best clothes, an’ every inch a gentleman he 
looked, I can tell’ee — drivin’ the waggon down to the station 
weth his pockets full o’ suvrins. He asked me ef I’d mind 
drivin’ back the waggon, when I had time, an’ I stayed an’ 
see’d un off, an’ shaked hands weth un at the carr-riage 
winda. Iss ! off to America he es,” added the pedlar, ^^an’ 
gone off like a gentleman, with plenty an’ to spare.” 

" Ded ’a buy his ticket for America in wan o’ they Pen- 
zaance offices ? ” 

'^No ! he warn’t such a big fool as that. He’ll choose his boat 
when he do git to Liverpool — like any awther gentleman. No 
watchin’ an’ trackin’, Mester Pengelly, for the likes o’ he ! ” 


A TROUBLED WATCH 


195 


" An’ tha’s all thee knaw ? ” 

" Well, p’rapsj about all. We had a glass o* beer together, 
an* a pipe o’ baccy, an’ such-like ; an’ we parted as friends 
shud, for all the gentleman he was. He warn’t too proud 
to shake hands weth me at the carr-riage winda, as I 
towld’ee ; an’ I wished un ‘ good speed,’ an’ a nice young 
wife ’mong they American girls ; an’ he laughed an’ said he 
shud look out for wan the fust thing when he got ovver. He 
was all’ys a nice, friendly, gentlemanly sort o’ fella, was Joe!” 

" How long sence thee found out that ? ” said the miller, 
turning on him sharply. “ Was it last night, when he was 
out weth’ee, all the night, in that van o’ thine } ” 

Who said so ? Who see’d un there ” demanded the 
pedlar quickly. 

“ Wha’s the use o’ lyin’, man } He was there, I do knaw. 
An’ more do knaw it besides me. So wha’s the use o’ lyin’?” 

‘‘ ’Twas onnly a li’l matter o’ business between us.” 

" ’Bout his goin’ off to-day, s’pose ? ” 

No ! nawthin’ to do weth that. He wanted a li'l money — 
so I helped un to it — bein’ so friendly as we was.” 

Thee’rt at the bottom o’ this, Tom, I feel sure ! ” said 
the miller. 

No I s’elp me God 1 strike me dead, ef I am ! ” 

“ Thee’lt be struck dead soon enough, man, wethout 
beggin’ for it ! Too soon to plaise’ee. I’m thinkin’,” said 
the miller. 

" Who said I shall be struck dead ? P’raps I dedn’ mayne 
it, nayther. I take back they words I said. Master Pengelly 
— I call’ee to witness ! ” said the little pedlar, now showing 
a terror that to the miller was inexplicable. But to the 
pedlar — as his hint to the schoolmaster had guardedly indi- 
cated — this idea of being struck dead was one of the terrors 
of his life. The doom had been foretold ” for him long 
ago by a noted witch in the ^^high countries,” and his ex- 
periences on the exposed moors in many a terrific storm, had 
bitten the ominous dread of it deep into his brain. His 
quite involuntary imprecation on himself — which he had 
only realised through the miller gravely harping on its signi- 


EZEKIELS SIN 


196 

ficance — had therefore terrified him to the full extent of his 
susceptibilities in the matter. And if the miller had chanced 
to re-open and pursue the subject, the pedlar would not only 
have recalled his emphatic denial, but would have told the 
latter much that he was still ignorant of. 

But the miller took up quite another aspect of the ques- 
tion : his thoughts having been travelling on altogether 
different lines. Well, Tom,’" he remarked indifferently to 
the pedlar, ef thee’ve finished weth me, Fm willin’ to finish 
weth thee; and thee can go thy awn way agen as soon as 
thee like. Ef haaf-a-crown’ll square matters for drivin’ the 
bosses home” — and he put his hand in his pocket and drew 
out the coin — ^^then, there thee are ! ” and he handed it 
to the pedlar. Shall I stop the bosses for’ee } or can’ee 
git down weth them movin’ ? Choone bottoms arn’t more 
than haaf a mile ahead of us.” 

^^Thaank’ee — ef thee wedn* mind stoppin’ them, Mester 
Pengelly.” 

The miller pulled up the horses without another word. 

'^Good night,” said the pedlar, hopping down into the 
roadway. 

The miller started the horses again, and drove on without 
reply. He decided that he would proceed to the mill — 
would put up the waggon and stable the horses,’ that this 
might be off his mind — and then would go straight to 
Drusilla’s cottage and would tell her everything that had 
happened, so far as he knew of it. Bad though the news 
was, he felt assured that already she was more than half 
prepared for it; and in his heart he was inclined to hope 
(judging her feelings by his own) that she would really, 
though perhaps secretly, be glad of the desertion : indeed, 
would consider it a veritable relief. At any rate, he felt 
certain that she would soon learn to do so, if only she would 
be true to her heart and have the courage he desired for her. 
She was the one woman in the world for him ! he said to him- 
self, hungrily : all he wanted was that, for her, he might be 
the one man ! 


TIDINGS 


197 


CHAPTER XXXI 

TIDINGS 

Thee’d better go to bed, Morvenna/’ said Malva to her 
daughter. Thee’rt lookin' as slaipy as an owld owl — settin’ 
there blinkin' an' yawnin'." 

No ! I'd rather stay up, mother," said Morvenna, yawning 
again. I don’t want to go to bed till all of us go.” 

"Well, put on the kittle, then, an' make a cup o' tay. 
We all of us want fresh'nin’ up a bit, sim to me.” 

Morvenna was just placing the kettle on the fire, that was 
still burning brightly, late though it was, when they were 
aware of a soft " rat-tat ! ” at the door. 

It was a knocking lighter and more diffident than they 
had expected from the miller, but perhaps the news he was 
bringing them was unexpectedly startling. 

" It can't be Joe — oh, I hope it isn’t ! ” cried Morvenna. 

"Hush !” replied Malva, lifting her finger warningly. 

Meanwhile Drusilla had darted to the door and thrown it 
wide open. 

The astonishment of the three women rose to the pitch of 
amazement, as they perceived on the door-step the little 
black-browed pedlar, bowing, with awkward politeness, as 
Drusilla stared in his face. 

See’d the light in thy winda, missis,” said he, rubbing his 
hands together, " so I thought I’d step in to tell’ee a bit o’ 
news.” 

"Well.^” demanded Drusilla. And, "Wha’s the news.?” 
chimed in Malva, who, with Morvenna, stood in the doorway 
close to Drusilla's shoulders. 

" Sorry to tell'ee Joe ben an' cut the country,” said the 
pedlar, his features screwed up to as grieved an expression 
as they could compass. But the glow of light from the 
kitchen, falling full on his face, exaggerated its expression 
on lines wholly repellant, and made his beady little eyes 


198 


EZEKIELS SIN 


seem actually to sparkle. happened to be in to Pen- 
zaance an’ see’d un when he went off/’ he continued, the 
sinister look deepening on his countenance, ^^an’ I shaked 
hands weth un at the carr-riage winda just afore the train 
started, an’ he towld me he was off an’ warn’t comin back 
no more.” And he began to shake his head in a most 
melancholy fashion, furtively watching Drusilla all the time. 

There, me dear ! There, now ! ” said Malva, lifting her 
hands. ^^He’ve gone off an’ left’ee, the good-for-nawthin’ 
scamp ! ” 

“Where’s ’a gone to.^” demanded Drusilla, fingering the 
latch of the door. 

“ Aw, me dear, gone to America, so he said. ’Tes a whisht 
bit o’ business as ever I heerd of ! ” 

“Thee helped it on putty well, as far as thee cud, 
dedn’ee } ” Drusilla remarked grimly, her eyes flashing at 
him scornfully. “ The money come from theCi i^3,n : so 
wha’s this pretence about } ” 

“From me, Mrs. Rosevear!” the pedlar lifted his hands 
in horror. 

“ They suvrins thee gov’ un last night, here in the 
kitchen, on that table ” — Drusilla, with a rapid gesture, 
thrust out her hand towards the piece of furniture and 
levelled her finger at it, shaking this indicafively — ^'what 
was they for, ef not to pay his passage } ” 

The pedlar stared at her in surprise. “What suvrins.?” 
he tried to ejaculate. 

But Drusilla laughed in his face. “ Man ! I see’d it all 
through a crack in the bedroom floor ! ” said she. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” laughed the pedlar, but with a laugh devoid 
of mirthfulness, “ trust the wemmin for bein’ clever ! They’re 
more’ll a match for we men : we caan’t howld a candle to 
them ! Darned, ef thee arn’t wan o’ the cleverest wemmin 
I ever see’d ! ” 

“ Ef tha’s all thee got to say, git off the doorstep an’ take 
theeself off ! ” 

“ S’pose, now, come to that,” he added, fumbling in the 
pocket of his coat, “ the awther nice li’l surprise that I was 


TIDINGS 


199 


savin’ up for’ee^ esn’ wuth mentionin’ : thee do knaw it already, 
s’pose ? ” And his eyes studied her watchfully : to see how 
much, or how little, her countenance might confess. He 
drew out a paper from his pocket and began to unfold it care- 
fully. S’pose thee knaw everything in thy house — every 
stick o’ furniture in it — the clome,^ the curtains, the beddin’ 
— everything, do belong to me I ” And he waved the paper 
towards the kitchen, as if it were a potent witch’s wand. 

What’ee mayne ” cried Drusilla, her face betraying her 
alarm. 

And What’ee mayne } ” echoed her mother, at her back. 

As thee knaw so much, missis,” said the pedlar sneer- 
ingly, to Drusilla, ^^do’ee mayne to say thee don’t knaw I 
got a bill o’ sale on the furniture ? I gov’ Joe ten pounds 
down, for the things.” 

^'The furniture is my sister’s! She bought it with her 
own money ! ” cried Morvenna angrily. 

’Scuse me, miss ! weth thy faather’s money, b’leeve,” 
said the pedlar smoothly. '^That money he got,” here he 
coughed significantly, with a leering glance at them : the 
money he got, lev’ us say, from the wreck o’ the Gannet : an’ 
no offence meant.” 

Malva pushed forward and fronted him, her face white 
and rigid. What’ee mayne, man!” she cried: her tones 
tremulous, her eyes unsteady. 

’Tes all right, Mrs. Trevaskis,” said the pedlar, rubbing 
his hands together: "’tes onnly between friends. I arn’t 
no town crier : thee can trust me to howld me tongue.” 

The women glanced at one another, uncertain how to act : 
and equally undecided as to what it was possible to say. 

At this moment, the form of the miller appeared at the 
back of the pedlar : the glow of the fire and the light of the 
candle clearly illumining the faces of both. 

"Eh, Tom, thee here.?” cried the miller, to the pedlar. 
" Come sniffin’ round like an owld car’yun craw,^ have’ee ? ” 

" I come to tell Mrs. Rosevear the whisht news,” said the 


^ Earthenware. 


- Carrion crow. 


200 


EZEKIELS SIN 


pedlar; ^^not knawin*/* he added, with a malicious sneering, 

that she'd got anawther man, so soon, ready an’ waitin’ to 
run her arrands for her!” 

The miller clapped his hand suddenly on the collar of the 
pedlar’s coat, and, lifting him from the ground, shook him as 
as if he had been a rat. 

Le’ me down ! Le’ me down, Mester Pengelly ! ” bawled 
the pedlar. 

The miller shook him again vigorously, till the little 
man’s jaws rattled noisily against each other. 

Morvenna clapped her hands loudly. " Give him another!” 
she cried delightedly. 

^^Le’ me down, Mester Pengelly! Le’ me down!” voci- 
ferated the pedlar. 

The big miller gave him another shake, growlingly : and 
then dropped him on his feet with a sudden thump that 
almost put his spine out of joint. 

Keep a civil tongue in thy head, will’ee ? when thee’rt 
spaykin to me, man ; or I’ll hoss-whep more than the dust 
out of ’ee — that I take me oath on ! ” 

Same as Mrs. Rosevear hoss-whepped her husband, s’pose 
thee mayne } ” 

^^You ugly little blaggard !” cried the miller, in a burst of 
anger, ef you insult any wan here agen ...” 

“She ded do it, I tell’ee!” bawled the pedlar, shrinking 
away from him. “ Ask her ef she dedn ’ ! Onnly thee ask 
her ! I shud like to see ef she’ll tell a lie,” he added, in an 
impudent undertone. 

“Iss, in this case, he’s tellin’ the truth, for wance,” re- 
marked Drusilla, as she stood in the doorway with her face 
in the shadow. “Joe insulted me, an’ I hoss-whepped un 
’tell he took to his heels. An’ I’d hoss-whep un agen to- 
morra, ef he insulted me in the same way ! ” 

“There! dedn’ I tell’ee ! But thee wedn’ b’leeve me,” 
quoth the pedlar, gloating over what he considered her 
humiliation. “ Iss,” he added, “an* Joe was that revengeful 
about it, that he sowld up everything an’ ben an’ cut the 
country ...” 


TIDINGS 201 

'^Sowld up!*’ ejaculated the miller. "What’ee mayne 
about that ? ” 

got a bill o’ sale on the furniture/’ said the pedlar 
gleefully. Iss ! ’tes all mine — all tha’s in the house ! ” And 
he waved his hand in triumph towards the interior of the 
kitchen. 

Es this true } ” asked the miller^ turning to Drusilla. 

^^He do say it es/’ replied Drusilla, in the tones of one 
depressed to weariness. 

‘^Dedn’ee say, just now, that thee geeked down through 
the cracks in the floor an’ see’d me handin’ ovver the 
suvrins to un ? ” the pedlar screeched at her, from behind 
the miller’s shoulder. 

^^Iss, I see’d’ee handin’ ovver the money to un, an’ the 
paper; but I dedn’ knaw what the paper was, nor what it 
mayned.” 

Well, thee knaw now ! ” cried the pedlar sneeringly. 

" Le’s see the paper, man ! ” said the miller roughly. 

That es,” he added, suddenly turning to Drusilla, " that es 
ef thee don’t mind me seein’ it, Mrs. Rosevear } ” 

Not a bit ! Not that I’ve seen it meself,” said Drusilla. 
“ He do say ’tes a bill o’ sale,” she indicated the pedlar by a 
movement of her head, ^^but whether ’tes or no, es more 
than I do knaw.” 

The pedlar again produced the paper from his pocket. 

Mind 1 I hand it to’ee afore witnesses ! ” he remarked, 
giving it to the miller. 

Never fear, man! I shaan’t ayte it,” said the miller. 

Iss, tes a bill o’ sale all fair and square, b’leeve,” he 
remarked to Drusilla, after he had carefully perused the 
paper. But he caan’t act on it ’tell it ben registered, an’ 
that’ll take time. Joe have sowld everything in the house 
for ten pounds, simmin’ly.” 

“ Every stick o’ furniture — the dome, the beddin’ — every- 
thing ! ” cackled the pedlar. 

^^Will’ee le’ me advance the money an’ pay off this for’ee.^” 
said the miller, turning to Drusilla, who leaned silently 
against the door-post. 


202 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


Better see thy faather fust/’ said Malva to her daughter. 

" How do’ee knaw I want to have it paid off } ” quoth the 
pedlar. ^'P’raps I’d raather take the things — that do rest 
weth me, b’leeve. It don’t say nawthin’ in the paper ’bout 
payin’ back the money.” 

The miller scratched his head. Well, what’ll’ee do ? 
Shall I advance the money to wance, an’ pay un off an’ git 
rid of un ? ” 

Better see thy faather fust,” Malva insisted to Drusilla. 

" Very well, mother ; lev’ it be as thee do say,” replied 
Drusilla. “ I must do as mother do wish,” she remarked, 
helplessly, to the miller. 

The miller handed the paper to the pedlar, who replaced 
it carefully in his pocket. May so well tell’ee,” he re- 
marked, " as you do sim so thick weth wan anawther, that 
there’s onnly wan man in the world I wed sell this paper to : 
an’ tha’s — Ezekiel Trevaskis. Ef he don’t want to buy it 
from me : no wan else shall. I’ll take the things — as I got a 
right to — an’ nowan shaan’t stop me ! ” And with this he 
hobbled off, muttering to himself. 

“ Well, b’leeve, thee do knaw all that there es to be 
knawn at present,” said the miller to Drusilla, as the pedlar 
limped away. ^^Joe have ben an’ cut the country right 
enough, simmin’ly : an’ he’ve left’ee wethout a stick, or a 
cup an’ saucer, to call thy awn : at layste, so far as he cud do 
it, the dirty li’l scamp ! S’pose he dedn’ layve much else 
behind un,” added the miller, money for’ee to go on weth, 
like,” he ventured, delicately. 

He stawl ayven the few shillin’s that I’d saved up for the 
rent an’ me confinement. He ayven cut me best dress an’ 
me best hat to pieces ! Hacked them to pieces weth a 
knife, somehow, so’s to layve me nawthin’ ayven to wear.” 

Good God ! what a’ ugly li’l devil he must ha’ ben ! 
Never heerd o’ nawthin’ mayner in the whole o’ me life ! I 
shud like to kick un from here to the mill, an’ back asren, 
’tell I was tired ! ” burst out the miller, his big face flaming 
angrily. ^H’m as glad thee hoss-whepped un, Mrs. Rosevear — 
darn me, ef arn’t ! — as ef anywan gov’ me a five-pound 


TIDINGS 


203 


note ! — Iss ! that I am ! ” he repeated emphatically, looking 
Drusilla now full in the face ; his eyes flashing at the flash 
in hers which his sympathy had evoked. 

Thank’ ee, Mr. Pengelly ! Tm glad to hear’ee say so ! ” 
Drusilla answered promptly : a sense of relief suffusing her 
mind hke a sudden gush of sunshine. 

Well/’ remarked the miller, ‘‘ I do awe un this week’s 
wages — so fur as the week’s gone,” and he put his hand in 
his pocket and drew out his purse. I’ll pay thee instead ; 
to square up matters between us.” 

“ Give it to mother,” said Drusilla ; feeling a delicacy now 
in taking the money from him herself. 

The miller handed the cash to Malva. '^Wish it was 
more,” he remarked. 

‘‘ Thaank’ee, Mester Pengelly ! An’ much obliged to’ee 
for all thy trouble,” Malva added, as her knotted fingers 
closed on the coins. 

" Don’t mention it ! Glad to oblige’ee, or do anything I 
can for’ee ! ’Tes a pleasure. Good night to’ee all ! ” said 
the miller heartily. 

Good night, Mr. Pengelly ! ” cried Morvenna, full of 
gratitude towards him. 

Good night to’ee, sir ; an’ thaank’ee, for thy friendli- 
ness ! ” repeated Malva. ’Tes bra’ an’ kind of ee, that it 
es ! An’ I shall all’ys say so.” 

Don’t mention it ! don’t mention it ! ” 

" Good night, Mr. Pengelly,” said Drusilla, last of all. 

‘‘ Good night, Mrs. Rosevear ! ” said the miller, as cheerily 
as possible. ‘‘ Don’t lose heart ! Things’ll mend ! There’s 
better days cornin’ ! ” 

And, with this, he walked away with his firm, deliberate 
tread, and was lost to sight in the windy darkness as soon 
as he had passed the garden gate. 

When the miller had left the garden, and the gate had 
swung to behind him, the little pedlar, humped skulkingly 
in the shadow of a patch of thorn-bushes, hobbled away also, 
as noiselessly as he could go. “ Got them all in me clutches, 
at laast! as I towld Joe I’d have them,” he muttered to 


204 


EZEKIEUS SIN 


himself as he limped off in the darkness. ^^An’ I’ll bleed 
’ee ’tell there esn’ a drop o’ blood in thy body — thee see ef 
I don’t, Ezekiel Trevaskis ! ” he growled viciously. I’ll 
bleed’ee wuss than a caa’f, I will! Iss/ an’ wuss than a 
sticked pig!” 


CHAPTER XXXII 

PUT TO THE TORTUEE 

On the morrow, life at Drusilla’s cottage seemed to be as 
utterly topsy-turvy as the things were in the bedroom on 
the morning of Joe’s departure. 

As it was Saturday, Ezekiel would be home sometime in 
the morning, and would have to be told the news, not only 
of Joe’s flight, but also of the ominous hint thrown out by 
the pedlar. 

And the three women shrank from the task in dread. 

They were full of nervous terror, not in the least for 
their own sakes, but solely for the sake of Ezekiel ; for 
whom they knew the pedlar’s hint would be the beginning 
of a veritable torture. 

Still, he would have to be told of it : and that by one of 
themselves. 

Should the pedlar get at Ezekiel first, he would be sure 
to do his best (out of pure maliciousness) to make the revela- 
tion as great a torture as his ingenuity could devise. And 
this they were determined to shield Ezekiel from, if possible. 

So, shortly after breakfast, Morvenna was sent to Newlyn; 
in order that she might meet Ezekiel and might tell him 
as much, or as little, of the week’s occurrences as she felt 
inclined to venture on, under the circumstances. In any 
case, she was to bring him direct to Drusilla’s cottage ; that 
he might break his journey there, and then go down to the 
cove quietly with Morvenna and her mother. 

Though not anxious for the task, Morvenna undertook it 
with obedient willingness, and was presently on her way to 


PUT TO THE TORTURE 


205 


the little fishing-town, with her eyes full of a troubled rest- 
lessness it was impossible to conceal. 

But, early although Morvenna had started, the pedlar had 
started even earlier than her. 

By the time the red, windy sunrise was flaming across the 
sky, the pedlar had left his van and was on the way to 
Newlyn ; and by eight o’clock — or shortly after — he was 
pacing up and down the little granite pier, patiently waiting 
for the boats to come in. 

The acknowledged racers of the fleet came sputtering in 
first, the foam flying from their bows as they ran up to the 
harbour through the grey tumbling seas, the gusty flaws 
whistling shrilly around them. Then came the bulk of 
the fleet, sailing up anyhow ; two or three abreast, single 
stragglers, a cluster of half-a-dozen : and then a mere crowd 
— all confused together. Last of all, and at intervals, came 
the laggards and the lame ducks — boats old, or ill-found, 
or defective in various ways. 

One of the last to arrive was the boat Ezekiel sailed in — 
oddly enough named Ternpus fogit — a boat always unlucky, 
and as invariably late. 

It was fully an hour before Ezekiel was ready to start 
for home : but at last, shortly before ten o’clock, start 
he did. 

The pedlar followed carefully at the crabber’s heels until 
he had left the little fishing-town some distance behind him, 
and was mounting, slowly and wearily, the long steep hill 
that here marks the beginning of that irregular plateau 
w’hich (with occasional depressions, and a central backbone 
of granite hilltops) may be said to extend from Madron to 
St. Just. 

Good mornin’, Mester Trevaskis ! Good mornin’ to’ee, 
sir ! ” said the pedlar, at last overtaking Ezekiel. 

Mornin’, Tom,” replied Ezekiel, without any particular 
heartiness. 

Sorry to see’ee on the boats agen at thy age,” said the 
pedlar. ^^Thee don’t take much rest, for a man gittin’ up 
in years.” 


206 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Must work while I can, Vleeve,*^ Ezekiel remarked. 

Well, there’s wan thing, thee do manage to make more 
out of it than most men. Through stickin to it so stiddy, 
an’ never takin’ no rest, thee’rt doin’ better than anywan 
else in Polurrian.” 

Don’t see that. Sim to me, ef anything, I’m doin’ 
raather wuss.” 

^^Tha’s all’ys the way weth you warm wans,” said the 
pedlar, as he shook his head in smiling disapproval : never 
willin’ to awn up that times es extry good weth’ee.” 

Don’t knaw. I’m sure, what thee’rt drivin’ at,” quoth 
Ezekiel. S’pose thee think thee’rt talkin’ sense, after thy 
fashion.” 

^'How cud’ee afford to set thy daughter up in house- 
keepin’, as thee ded, ef thee hadn’ done better than most 
in the cove } Why, there esn’ anawther man in the cove, 
to my knowledge ...” 

Warn’t’ee tellin’ me, ’tawther day, they’d saved thirty- 
eight pounds towards it } A liar shud have a better memory. 
Pull thy wits together, man ! ” 

I was misinformed, Mester Trevaskis : Joe have set me 
right sence. I find ’twas thee supplied the money,” here 
he lowered his voice confidentially, out o’ thy pickin’s from 
the Gannet — such as they was.” 

'^What’ee mayne, man.?” cried Ezekiel, turning on him 
suddenly : the evident disquiet in his face belying the fierce- 
ness of his tones. 

^^Well, tha’s puttin’ a straight question, ef thee like,” said 
the pedlar. ^^An’ I’ll give’ee a straight answer, as between 
man an’ man. Do’ee remember my tellin’ee ’bout a man 
I see’d from the cliff- top — that man that was robbin’ a dead 
body last April ? ” 

remember,” said Ezekiel briefly. A sensation of un- 
speakable terror swept suddenly through his brain. It was 
like that legend of the man who, for years, pursued a cloaked 
figure — a figure that everywhere, and persistently, eluded 
meeting him face to face — and who one day, unexpectedly 
overtaking it at a corner, found it turn suddenly and front 


PUT TO THE TORTURE 


207 


him and uncloak its face to him ; revealing to him no other 
than the livid fetch of himself! That other man/^ on 
whose secret comradeship in sin with him Ezekiel had sup- 
ported his courage when desperately beset^ was it no other 
than himself then, and was he absolutely alone ? Ezekiel 
felt his brain reeling : he staggered like a drunken man. 

^^As a matter of fact/’ said the pedlar, gloating over his 
discomposure, as a matter of faet, I had a spyglass : an’ I 
watched un through that.” 

Again there was a pause. 

Well ” said Ezekiel briefly. 

^^Well.^” echoed the pedlar. 

"What are’ee drivin’ at, man!” cried Ezekiel irritatedly ; 
his eyes seeking the pedlar’s face, and then again wandering 
away from it, with the restless, shifty glance of fear. 

" I thought, as between friends. I’d mention the matter 
friendly like.” 

"What matter ? Spayke up, an’ spayke out, man, 
caan’t’ee ! ” 

"The party I see’d through the spyglass, I do knaw as 
well as I knaw . . . thee ! ” 

" Thought thee said the awther day . . the words stuck 
in Ezekiel’s throat. 

" I onnly done it to try’ee,” said the pedlar smoothly. 
"Thought I’d give’ee a chaance to trust a friend — ef thee 
wed.” 

"Well, ef thee knaw un, go to un, an’ tell un so, caan’t’ee? 
What have it got to do weth me ? ” quoth Ezekiel, weakly 
querulous. 

" Come, now, Mester Trevaskis,” said the pedlar suasively, 
" I arn’t a bad wan to dayle weth, after all : not a bit of 
it. I’d rather do’ee a good turn, than a bad wan, any day. 
I ben thy friend so far . . . but . . . ef thee drive me too 
far . . .” 

" Spayke out, man ! spayke out ! Wha’s stickin’ in thy 
throt ? ” 

" What need to spayke out plainer ! Ha’n’t I towld’ee I 
knaw the man ? ” 


208 


EZEKIELS SIN 


What man ? ” persisted Ezekiel, with the shifty dodging 
of extreme fear. 

The man I see’d robbin* a dead body from the Gannet 
last April when thee wert whiffin’ for makerl off Treen Dinas. 
I thought, as between friends. I’d mention the matter to’ee 
friendly like.” 

"Well, thee’ve mentioned it,” said Ezekiel; feeling as if 
his life were crumbling away in his hands. "An’ now, 
s’pose, thee’lt find some awther friend thee’d like to mention 
it to ? ” 

" All depends — all depends ! ” replied the pedlar, watching 
him closely. 

"There’s Isaac Roscorla thee might mention it to. It 
might int’rest he” Ezekiel’s face was drawn and haggard, 
and his eyes were alive with apprehension. 

"Or the schoolmaster, or the miller, or the p’leece in 
Penzaance. It wed int’rest any o’ they, I’m thinkin’.” 

" Well . . . why not try them } ” 

" I will — ef thee like.” 

"What it got to do weth me — whether I like, or no.” 

" This much ! Thee can buy the saycret from me — at a 
price.” 

" Why shud I buy it from’ee, more’n any wan else } ” 

"Why.^ ’Cause ’tes ihy saycret, man — thy awn disgrace! 
Thee’rt the man I see’d through the spyglass ! ” said the 
pedlar. "’Tes from that dead man from the Gannet thee 
got thy money. ’Tes no use denyin’ it — I do knaw it for 
a fact ! ” 

Ezekiel looked in the pedlar’s eyes for an instant : and 
then his glance fell, and he turned as livid as a corpse. 

"Well, what’ee got to say } ” 

Ezekiel hesitated, his lips trembled ; he gave a convulsive 
shudder, and his legs slipped staggeringly. 

" How much . . .” began Ezekiel, his voice unnaturally 
hoarse. He wetted his lips and breathed heavily. " How 
much . . . thee said somethin’ . . . about a price . . . didn’ee.^” 
He articulated the words in a slurred, mangled fashion ; 
seeming to swallow, and that with difficulty, something that 


PUT TO THE TORTURE 


209 

choked in his throat. The timbre of his voice, too, was 
changed, and that strangely. Something seemed to have 
stricken his nature to the roots. 

How much } ” said the pedlar, with hearty briskness, the 
crabber’s agony in no way affecting him. Well, I got a bit 
of a bargain I want to make weth’ee,” and he put his hand 
in his coat-pocket and drew out the bill of sale. 

As the pedlar produced the paper, Ezekiel felt a shock of 
blind horror run through him. Was he to be asked to sign 
away his freedom — his soul } — his eternal redemption } His 
legs seemed suddenly to give way under him : he had to 
support himself against the hedge as best he could. 

^^Wha’s the matter, man.^* What’ee stickin’ there like 
that, for ? ” 

I caan’t walk . . . for a few minutes . . the slurring in 
his speech was now pronounced. "Wait . . . ’tell I git back 
the stringth ... in me legs.” The crabber’s whole form 
seemed strangely to collapse, his face sinking in and his lower 
jaw falling. 

"Well, to cut matters short,” said the pedlar, with brutal 
directness,” thy daughter’s husband, Joe Rosevear, ben an’ 
skedaddled — gone to America. But I bought all his things 
from un — all his furniture, I mayne — for haaf a score pounds : 
here’s the bill o’ sale of it ! ” And he unfolded the paper 
and began to gabble through its contents. 

"Lev’ it be . . . lev’ it be . . Ezekiel managed to 
articulate. 

"True, true! Tha’s right! Nawthin’ like trust between 
friends ! We’ll take it as read,” said the pedlar ; standing in 
front of Ezekiel, with his legs wide apart, and flourishing the 
paper in his hand. "Well, that being so, what I got to say 
es this : ef thee’ll gi’ me twenty pounds for this here dokky- 
ment, thee can put it in the fire, or do what thee like weth 
it: an I’ll howld me tongue, into the bargain,” he added' 
giving a leering wink, and lowering his voice confiden- 
tially, " I’ll howld me tongue on that awther matter we was 
spaykin’ of. Honour bright ! There’s a feer offer, man ! 
Take it, or lay ve it — I don’t keer a pin which thee do ! ” 

o 


210 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Ezekiel leaned against the hedge, his head hanging on 
his breast ; on his face an expression of complete physical 
collapse. 

Mind ! I waan’t take a penny less ! Twenty pounds, or 
nawthin" ! For that thee git the bill o’ sale an’ free thy 
daughter’s furniture— every cup an’ saucer, an’ every stick of 
it, do belong to me, as it es — an’ thee git me on thy side, as 
mum as a mouse. Iss,” he added, rubbing his hands together 
cheerfully, thy daughter es knackin’ about my things at 
present. Chippin’ me cups an’ saucers (as likely as not), 
kickin’ the paint off the legs o’ me tables an’ cheers, an’ 
gen’rally givin’ me more trouble than she’s wuth, in a manner 
o’ spaykin’. But what do it matter between friends } ” and he 
smiled, if possible, more than ever. “ Thee’ll be buyin’ them 
back for her, o’ coorse — not to spake o’ that awther special 
matter between us — an’ then, ^ mum's ’ the word to ev’ry wan, 
for ever an’ ever, aanien ! ” 

‘‘ Thee shall ha’ the money ... ef I do ever . . . live to git 
home,” Ezekiel articulated, with mangled indistinctness. 
‘‘ But, for God’s sake . . lemme qua’at . . . lemme qua’at . . . 
for . . . minute or two.” 

Right, you ! Tha’s agreed between us, then ! Twenty 
pounds, an’ all ovver, all feer an’ square ! ” And the pedlar 
held out his hand to grip that of Ezekiel. 

Caan’t’ee see, man . . . got as much . . . can do . . . to 
stand ’t all.” 

" Thee musn’ crack up, owld friend ; thee’rt too vallyable 
to me an’ awthers. Must try to git’ee home somehow,” the 
pedlar v ttered, watching him. Darn it all! wish there 
was somewan in sight.” 

At this moment, scanning the highway carefully in all 
directions, the pedlar became aware of a female figure in the 
distance : some one approaching from the direction of Polurrian 
and Choone. 

He waved his hand to her anxiously ; calling, at the top 
of his voice, “ Come here, wust ’a, you ! A man took ill / ” he 
bawled. 

Down the road the figure came running rapidly, and, as 


PUT TO THE TORTURE 


211 


he watched her, it suddenly flashed on the pedlar that this 
was no other than Ezekiel’s daughter Morvenna : the little 
spitfire who, last night, had clapped her hands so gleefully 
when the miller had held him up in a fashion so undignified. 

But there was no opportunity, just now, to resent grievances 
of this kind. He must accept her help, and make the best 
of it. 

Hurry up ! ” he bawled : " man took ill ! ” 

As she came running along breathlessly, Morvenna presently 
recognised that it was the pedlar hailing her : and, almost at 
the same instant, the thought stabbed her like a knife, that 
possibly the “man ill” was her father himself! 

She rushed down the long highway like one suddenly gone 
crazy : her eyes dazed, her breath coming in quick, short 
pants, and her heart beating as furiously as if it would 
burst through her bodice. 

“ Father ! dear father ! what’s the matter with you ? ” she 
cried excitedly, running up to him and laying his hanging 
head on her shoulder. 

’Tes all right — he do knaw all, me dear — everything 1 ” 
cackled the pedlar. “ An’ we’re the best o’ friends now, thy 
faather an’ I ! Arn’t us, Mester Trevaskis ? ” he asked, 
turning to Ezekiel. 

Iss,” groaned Ezekiel : iss . . . best o’ . . . friends.” 

“ He ben took a bit poorly through bearin’ the whisht 
news about Joe,” said the pedlar to Morvenna, as he watched 
her kissing and fondling her father. “ But he’ll soon be all 
right agen : waan’t’ee, owld friend ? ” And he thrus this 
face to within half a foot of that of Ezekiel. 

Iss,” groaned Ezekiel : onnly git me . . . indoors.” 

“ That bill o’ sale he’s goin’ to buy back from me for 
twenty pounds, me dear. Arn’t’ee, owld friend J ust say 
^ iss ! ’ ef thee can manage it.” 

Iss, ’ moaned Ezekiel : ^Mss . . . git me . . . indoors ... I 
want ... to go to bed ... to slaip ...” he muttered heavily. 

^^Thee heerd un? He’ve promised, mind ! ’Tes a bargain.?” 
said the pedlar. Thee’rt a witness that he promised me ; 
arn’t’ee, me dear .? ” 


212 


EZEKIELS SIN 


“Yes, yes/^ cried Morvenna, racked with intolerable 
anguish. “ Give him your arm, and I’ll give him mine : we 
must get him indoors somehow. 

And one on either side of him, half supporting half 
dragging him — his feet trailing heavily, his head hanging 
on his breast — Morvenna and the pedlar, after a period 
that seemed to the girl interminable, managed to bring 
Ezekiel to the door of Drusilla’s house. 

When Malva and Drusilla perceived the group approaching 
the cottage — the little pedlar awkwardly doing his best to 
support a man nearly a foot and a half taller than himself ; 
Morvenna, her eyes watering and blinking frequently ; and, 
in the middle, Ezekiel swaying and staggering like a drunken 
man — the two women screamed affrightedly and at once 
rushed out to assist. 

“ Wha's the matter weth un ? ’* quavered Malva. “ Took 
bad, are’ee, faather } ” 

“ Who done it ? Was it thee ? ” Drusilla questioned 
angrily ; pushing away the pedlar and taking his place. 

“Yes! it was him!” cried Morvenna vehemently. “He 
met father and frightened him — upset him in some way. 
He has been worrying father about money,” she explained. 
And she hastily described how she had met them : her 
father leaning against the hedge, ill and scarcely able to 
speak, and the pedlar harping on some promise that he 
said had been made to him. “ It is all his doing ! I hate 
him ! ” she cried passionately. 

Hate me or no,” said the pedlar, following them into the 
cottage, “ Ezekiel have promised to buy back the bill o’ sale 
from me. Twenty pounds he’s goin’ to give me for it, for 
raisons knawn to ourselves ! Arn’t’ee, owld friend — ’tes a 
promise, esn’t it ” 

“ Iss . . . gi’ the money . . . git rid of un . . . want to slaip,’* 
came brokenly and indistinctly from the lips of the crabber, 
as he sank heavily into a chair, his head falling on his breast. 

“ Come in agen later — this ay v’nin’ — any time. Thee 
shall have the money, ef he’ve promised it,” cried Malva 
agitatedly. “ But layve un now ! Do’ee go — there’s a good 


CONFIDENCES 213 

Christian ! Else he’ll die on our haands ! ” she wailed, watch- 
ing her husband. 

And if he does,” cried Morvenna, you shall never touch 
a penny of it ! We’ll swear together — all of us ! — that you’ve 
killed him, you little wretch ! Yes ! and we’ll stick to it, 
too !” she cried passionately. ^^You shall be hunted out of 
the parish like a rat, that you shall ! Go ! — out of the 
house ! — or I’ll fetch the miller to whip you out of it ! Get 
out ! ” and she snatched up the heavy kitchen poker and 
advanced tow^ards him as spiritedly as if she would strike 
him down in another instant. 

The pedlar began backing away and retreating before the 
girl in whom the protective instinct thus defiantly asserted 
itself — flooding her nature with its vital force till she felt 
as fierce as a lioness — but, on the doorstep, he halted and 
cried to them menacingly, I’ll come for the money this 
ayv’nin’ — an’ I mayne to have it, too ! Better have it ready 
— or else it’ll be wuss for all of ee ! ” And, with that, he 
hobbled away, muttering to himself. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

CONFIDENCES 

Later in the day — about the middle of the afternoon — when 
Ezekiel had been helped upstairs and put to bed, Drusilla 
went down to her father’s cottage to fetch the hated money ; 
of which she was now almost as much afraid as Malva was. 
Ezekiel, in his mangled and painfully difficult speech, had 
told them to have the money ready for the pedlar when 
he called, that they might redeem the bill of sale and 
promptly get rid of him : and, under the circumstances, 
Drusilla could do nothing but obey. 

As she was returning with the twenty sovereigns in her 
pocket, she met the schoolmaster wandering restlessly along 
the edge of the stream. ^‘Is anything the matter?” he 


214 


EZEKIELS SIN 


asked anxiously. Anything happened to your father? 
What has become of Morvenna? I haven’t seen her since 
yesterday.” 

Drusilla explained to him that her father^ as he was return- 
ing from Newlyn that morning, had been taken ill, almost as 
ef he’d had a stroke/’ and that Morvenna and her mother 
were up at the cottage in Choone bottoms engaged in looking 
after him until he could be brought home. 

Have you had the doctor for him, yet ? ” asked the 
schoolmaster. 

No ! he caan’t do no good/’ said Drusilla. 

‘‘ Shall I fetch one for you ? ” 

^^No — don’t knaw — thee can ask mother/’ answered 
Drusilla, wavering and undecided, for many conflicting 
reasons. 

Shall I go up with you now ? I should like to, if you 
don’t object.” 

“ Come, ef thee like,” said Drusilla indifferently. 

So they walked together up to the cottage in Choone 
bottoms. 

After a little talk with the schoolmaster, Malva agreed 
that he should fetch the doctor from Newlyn if he would ; 
Morvenna being particularly anxious that they should have 
medical assistance, and Ezekiel, when they put the question 
to him, making no objection. 

Thee go weth Mester Richards, me dear, ef thee like : 
a bit o’ walk’ll do’ee good,” said Malva to Morvenna. 

^Hss; thee go,” said Drusilla kindly. Father’ll be all 
right ; an’ the walk waan’t harm’ee.” 

Morvenna accordingly put on her hat and jacket and set 
off with the schoolmaster, full of agitating thoughts. 

For hours she had been anxiously debating in her mind 
whether it was not her duty to confess to the schoolmaster 
the position of affairs — all its gloomy and embarrassing 
entanglements and all the latent threats in it — and leave it 
to him to decide how far he felt justified in holding to his 
engagement to her under the circumstances. 

With her scanty mental outfit, and her narrow and per- 


CONFIDENCES 


215 


functory intellectual training — enlarged slightly, though both 
had been, by her education as a teacher — Morvenna was as 
unable to state the larger questions of conduct, as she was 
mentally to apprehend the complex issues of life. Her only 
guide was the average conscience of the community : a 
conscience whose standard of morals and 'whose spiritual 
platform were those of the creed popularly known as 
Christianity : the said creed being accepted with the slightest 
mental gloss, and with little, if with any, subtilising in- 
sight. Hitherto, the ^^rule of thumb” decisions of this 
conscience had answered her needs without any sense of 
insufficiency. But now she found herself confronted by a 
problem so unusual, that the answers scheduled (so to speak) 
in the typical catechism of the community no longer seemed 
to her adequate, or even pertinent, to her needs. She feht 
suddenly, like one shipwrecked on the infinite sea of life, 
without a compass or a chart to guide her, and without even 
the friendly stars. And in the perplexity of what seemed to 
her her loneliness and desolation, she was disquieted to an 
extent that was almost unendurable. 

She could remember no case exactly parallel to her own ; 
and no popular gloss, or commentary, on other lives known 
to her, that she could apply suitably to the peculiar circum- 
stances in which she was placed. Her decision must be 
a purely personal and individual one : the creation of a 
standard for herself, and an adherence to it if possible; 
and in the confusion and perplexity that resulted from the 
demand, she fell into a mood of such emotional agitation 
that the schoolmaster became aware of it before they had 
walked a hundred yards. 

“ What’s the matter, my pet } What’s worrying you so 
much } ” he asked, with loving solicitude, watching her face 
anxiously. 

** I’m afraid, dear,” said Morvenna, avoiding his eyes (her 
voice shaking and something like a sob creeping into it). 
“ I’m afraid, dear,” she faltered, we shall have to give each 
other up.” 

“ Why } ” asked the schoolmaster, glancing at her with 


216 


EZEKIELS SIN 


a startled look. What has happened that such a thought 
should ever enter your head ? ” Suddenly his voice grew 
graver, with a tremulous note of trouble in it, Unless you 
mean, Morvenna,*’ and he tried to look in her eyes, unless 
you mean that you want to be free from me — for your own 
sake, and not for mine.” 

No, no, dear ! Oh no, I don’t want to give you up ! 
How could I } ” she exclaimed, lovingly anxious to reassure 
him. It would break my heart, I think ! Oh, I think it 
would, indeed ! ” she cried, lifting her eyes to his ; and he 
could see that they were rapidly filling with tears. 

Then, why talk of it, my darling ? ” urged the school- 
master, much perturbed. 

Because . . . because ...” she faltered ; and then her 
Voice broke into a veritable gasping sob. Because, dear . . . 
you may want to get rid of me yourself ! ” 

Why.^” asked the schoolmaster, with a startled intonation. 

What has happened ? What is it ? Why should I want 
to give you up ? ” 

" Because ...” and, with this, she poured out her story, 
in a rush of words that, in its way, was as irresistible and 
as impetuous as the rush of waters from a bursting mill-dam, 
battered down by a freshet. 

The schoolmaster listened, with close and painful attention, 
as she related to him, as coherently as her agitation would 
permit, the pitiful story of her father’s temptation and his 
fall : of his sin, prompted solely by his love for his children : 
of the beginning of his punishment, at first secret and inward; 
presently taking the form of an anguished torture from 
without : and now, as late as this morning, of the final attack 
by the pedlar — an attack that threatened to end in the 
shaming of all of them and in the general and irretrievable 
ruin of their lives. 

She explained that neither Ezekiel nor Malva had benefited 
by the money : that they had not touched a penny of it, 
loathing it from the first : and that she, herself, had refused 
even to handle the hated coins, feeling towards them a 
repugnance impossible to overcome. But the fatal urgency 


CONFIDENCES 


217 


of sordid needs on the part of her sister^ unhappily had led 
to the hoard being infringed on ; and through this, and 
Joe's vindictiveness in the angry hours before his flight, the 
pedlar had managed to obtain a clue to the painful secret, 
and was now using it against them with all the rancour he 
was capable of. 

All this, in her own agitated phraseology, and in the 
clearest way her mind was capable of focussing it, Morvenna 
laid before the schoolmaster, revealing all and concealing 
nothing. She felt, the while, as if the shame of the disclosure 
would break her heart : but she was resolute to endure the 
pang of it, and to face the result of the confession, rather 
than have their love prove a thing contemptible in its 
foundations — empty of trust and of self-respect, a mere 
mockery and a sham. 

In her girlish way, she was realising (dimly and imperfectly) 
that, to ensure for it a long and happy life, love demands 
something more than desire, however vehement ; more even 
than a swift recognition of sympathies — however absorbing 
and poignant these may be. She was realising that the 
highest love needs, above everything, a sympathetic com- 
prehension of the nature it would respond to : a compre- 
hension whose trust (deliberate, and not to be shaken) 
shall widen as inevitably with every widening of knowledge, 
as it does with every widening of emotional development. 
Above all, she was realising (however inadequately) that love 
based, solely upon a single side of life — be it the sensuous 
form, or the nobler phantasy — carries fatally within itself 
the warrant of its own decay : and, in its ruin, may calami- 
tously drag down with it even more than in its heyday it was 
competent to build up. 

The pitiful conflict within her, had been increasingly 
evident in many ways as she had proceeded with her 
story, and when she finally broke down into a perfect 
passion of tears, the schoolmaster, his arms around her, 
laid her head on his shoulder lovingly, and assured her that, 
as far as she was concerned, he considered her free from 
the slightest stain. He asseverated that the idea of giving 


218 


EZEKIELS SIN 


her up for the sin of another — a sin in which she had not 
participated even with the tips of her fingers — was the last 
thing he would think of doing — it would be as base as killing 
a child ! She was his — she had all his love — and she was to 
be his wife presently. These things were settled definitely : 
and nothing could ever shake them ! 

And, presently, in the satisfying assurance of this — with 
his arm around her, her head on his shoulder, and his lips 
caressing hers — Morvenna gradually ceased her sobbing and 
allowed herself to be comforted : feeling that here was a 
man to be worshipped, and that worship him she did with 
all her heart ! 

‘‘ Oh, my love, oh, my love, I do love you ! ” she cried 
to him. 

I’m as sure of it,” responded the schoolmaster, pressing 
her to him closely, Tm as sure of it, my darling, as I am 
that I’m alive ! ” 

Their talk, after this, as they proceeded on their way to 
Newlyn, was dictated rather by the schoolmaster’s worldly- 
wisdom than by their deep and trustful affection for each 
other ; which now, once more, was restfully content. 

The schoolmaster would not have been a man of flesh-and- 
blood — that proud, assertive, pleasure-seeking animal that a 
man is in the main, however circumstances may differentiate 
him — if he had not felt a slight flavour of regret that the 
girl he had chosen for his wife should (however unavoidably) 
be mixed up with the tangle of incidents he had just become 
aware of. Ezekiel’s sin and its consequences (Drusilla’s 
desertion being, perhaps, one of them) were by no means 
pleasant thoughts to linger over : and the schoolmaster saw 
clearly the objectionable results that might ensue if the 
crabber’s transgression should become generally known. 

Discussing the matter with Morvenna with reasonable 
frankness, he impressed on her to keep in the future (as 
she had done in the past) absolutely clear from any com- 
plicity in the affair of the money. Rather than she should 
be exposed to the temptation of having to handle it (in 
case Ezekiel’s illness should prove to be a lengthy one) he 


CONFIDENCES 


219 


suggested that she should endeavour to obtain her parents’ 
consent to her being married at the earliest convenient 
opportunity. 

^^You will be eighteen just before Easter/’ he remarked; 

why not let us be married at Easter^ and free you in this 
way } That would give me the rights as his son-in-law, to 
protect your father, and also to assist him to the full extent 
of my means. And I think that you and I, dear, could so 
manage matters between us that neither he nor your mother 
should want for anything, and yet that they should be freed, 
at the same time, from that terrible temptation always assail- 
ing them in the background. You would be willing, if your 
parents would consent, wouldn’t you, my pet ? ” 

Yes ! ” replied Morvenna. If they will let us be married 
at Easter, I shall be as pleased, dear, as you will be ! ” 

'^Then that’s settled,” said the schoolmaster. fancy, 
between us we can manage to obtain their consent somehow. 
At any rate, we will both do our best to get it, won’t we 

^^Yes, dear, we wdll ! ” Morvenna answered lovingly. A 
life spent at the side of the schoolmaster — and that as his 
7vife — was her ideal of the fullest happiness that was pos- 
sible for her in the w^orld : and at the mere prospect of it, 
her heart began to flutter with delight. 

The doctor they had gone in search of, they were so 
fortunate as to find at home ; and, as he promised to call at 
the cottage some time during the evening, Morvenna and 
the schoolmaster returned to Choone and reported their 
success to Malva with the feeling that their afternoon had 
been thoroughly well spent. 

Before he left the cottage, the schoolmaster remarked to 
Morvenna that he would like to have a talk with her sister 
Drusilla : would Morvenna ask her if she would mind coming 
to the gate with him that they might have a few minutes’ 
quiet conversation together } 

Drusilla wondered what the conversation was likely to be 
about, but consented, and went out to the gate with him as 
he had requested. 

At once plunging into the matter that was uppermost in 


220 


EZEKIELS SIN 


his thoughts, the schoolmaster told Drusilla that Morvenna 
had confided everything to him Oh, she has ! has she ? 
interjected Drusilla) and that he wanted to give them a bit 
of advice, if Drusilla would not mind listening to it. 

Drusilla answering neither yes ” nor no ” : the school- 
master accordingly proceeded to give her the benefit of his 
suggestions. 

What he had to say to her, stated briefly, amounted to 
this : — 

The pedlar having proved himself so savagely vindictive, 
any trap that could be laid for him seemed to be justified : 
the schoolmaster therefore advised Drusilla so to arrange 
matters that the promised payment to him should be made 
openly, in the presence of her mother and herself : that the 
twenty pounds should only be handed to him after Malva 
had told him clearly that it was a portion of the money 
obtained from the dead man’s belt: and, further, that he 
should be given definitely to understand that, while ten of 
the sovereigns were to redeem the bill of sale, the other ten 
were given to him purely as hush money ” — that he might 
keep the subject of the appropriated belt as a secret between 
themselves. ^‘^If you carry the matter through strictly on 
these lines,” said the schoolmaster, the pedlar will have 
‘ compounded a felony,’ as it is termed : he will have ac- 
cepted money to hold his tongue with regard to a punishable 
offence, and for this he will be liable to fine and imprison- 
ment, should the matter at any time come into a court of 
law. When all is over — when he has pocketed the money 
and you have burned the bill of sale — you must give him 
to understand, as clearly as possible, that his position in 
the eye of the law is perfectly well known to you ; and that, 
if he tries in future to annoy your father, you are quite 
determined to let the law take its course and he will have 
to bear his special share of the punishment — Jine and im~ 
prisonment, you will remind him, being what this amounts 
to. Do you think you can remember all this?” the school- 
master asked her. ^^And are you willing to carry the 
matter through in this way ? ” 


CONFIDENCES 


221 


Yes, Drusilla thought she could remember it, if he would 
repeat it over again to her : and as for being willing, she was 
more than willing, she would be delighted to trap the little 
pedlar in any way whatever ! 

^^Of course,” remarked the schoolmaster, ^^you will be 
doing nothing but what you have a perfect right to do. 
Your father’s regrettable act you are in no way responsible 
for ; and that you should try to protect him, as far as it lies 
in your power, against a man notoriously so unscrupulous as 
the pedlar — especially, seeing that your father is too ill to 
protect himself — is only wdiat would be expected from you 
under the circumstances ; and I am quite sure no one would 
blame you for it.” 

The schoolmaster’s desk-style was rather a weariness to 
Drusilla — she found herself wondering whether he talked in 
this way to Morvenna, and if so, how on earth Morvenna 
could endure it — and his defence of her, in anticipation, 
against possible criticisms, she simply did not listen to, think- 
ing of quite other matters. She was content to know that the 
little pedlar was about to step into a trap, and that, in future, 
if he should try to injure or annoy them, he would find out 
that he was practically in the same boat as they were. In 
spite of his cleverness, he would now be compelled to hold 
his tongue : if not for their sake, at any rate, for his own ! And 
her heart leaped with a fierce and almost savage gratification. 

As the schoolmaster again went over his suggestions to her, 
Drusilla listened to him with close attention, devouring every 
word greedily, and at last felt sure that she thoroughly 
comprehended them. 

Iss, iss : I understand ! In any case. I’ll do it ! ” she 
remarked eagerly, and a little impatiently, anxious now to 
get rid of him. ‘‘ Good afternoon, Mr. Richards, and thank’ee 
for thy advice ! ” and, with that, she turned and went indoors. 

Meanwhile the schoolmaster, as he walked homewards 
through the October sunset — the great masses of cloud tossed 
and tumbled overhead, and the wind whining and wailing 
and sighing ceaselessly around him — felt depressed into a 
mood in thorough harmony with the hour : a mood in which 


222 


EZEKIELS SIN 


the light seemed narrowing just as drearily, and the shadows 
deepening as stealthily and almost as inevitably. 

He was overcome by something like personal humiliation, 
at being mixed up with a tangle of incidents in which the 
elements of disgrace were so obviously latent. 

True, he held Morvenna blameless in the matter : as he 
had held her from the first, and that unfalteringly. He 
would not have altered her individuality by a touch of light 
or shade, by a hair’sbreadth of change in her from what she 
was now — with her seventeen-and-a-half summers and her 
exquisite gift of loving — even had the power been bestowed 
on him for his testing. 

But the sin of her father, and the shadow^s gathering 
threateningly around the cottage — these were things that he 
was neither glad nor proud of : and, in an enviroment such 
as this, her lustre seemed to be dimmed perceptibly. 

He even found himself w'ondering how he should act if 
he discovered that the circle lighted up by her consciousness 
was so narrow that, for all practical purposes, she was entirely 
at the mercy of the tribal gods of her parents, was a mere 
slave to the conventions to which they had tabued her. If, 
on finding herself a wife, with alien ideals to consider — the 
tribal gods of her husband’s training and aspirations — she 
should be harassed into the most fretful and unhappy of lives, 
how could he manage to hold his own in the world } he 
groaned drearily. 

And, for the first time, the idea of his marriage made him 
tremble. 

He struggled with the feeling, which he was well aware 
was an ungenerous one, but the restlessly introspective nature 
of the student — the man of books, the man. of documents and 
of abstract problems — was not an easy one to quiet in its 
intellectual vagaries. His mind kept on presenting and ' 
weighing these ideas, discussing and analysing and subtly 
discriminating them, till the tumult of his thoughts became 
almost a torture to him, and he longed heartily to be indoors 
and under the influence of his books — to whose soothing, 
magic spell he was always glad to surrender himself. In the 


CONFIDENCES 


223 


cloisteral world of books, a man can always be sure of finding 
sympathy and companionship, and here he can feed a mood, 
or, if need be, create it, with the certainty of being able to 
control it when necessary, and with no other spectator of his 
whims and their consequences than the lamp staring from 
the table or the clock ticking at his side. To be again in 
this haven of the student and the man of dreams, the school- 
master hurried homewards as rapidly as possible ; feeling that 
merely to glance at the books on their shelves would in itself 
be an anodyne — even, perhaps, a tonic. 

But he had still a good half-hour’s walk in front of him : 
and in that time his thoughts played him many trying 
pranks.* 

At last, however, he settled down definitely to the con- 
clusion that you can’t gather up spilled water by saying a 
prayer over it ; and that he must deal with the facts of 
life as they actually fronted him, and not as he personally 
would have arranged them had he been asked to place them 
before the footlights. 

Morvenna he meant to marry — that decision was beyond 
dispute. A life without her would be worse than a life 
maimed by the loss of a limb ; and not even as a mere 
exercise of the imagination, could he endure the idea of a 
deprivation so fatal to him. 

The father with his burden of sin, and the sister with her 
burden of sorrow, must be acce})ted as gloomy figures in the 
background of his life ; but in the foreground he would have 
Morvenna ! and he would rest content with that. 

The owls hooted eerily among the trees at the head of 
the valley, the wind wailed and lamented, the sea thundered 
at the mouth of the cove, but the schoolmaster had poised 
his thoughts firmly on his love for Morvenna, and from this 
nothing could now dislodge them : they were there, and 
there they would rest ! 


224 


EZEKIELS SIN 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

TWO WOMEN AND A MAN 

About half-an-hour after the schoolmaster had left the 
cottage, the doctor’s ancient gig drew up at the gate. 

According to the women’s interpretation of his behaviour, 
the doctor seemed to be greatly puzzled by Ezekiel’s col- 
lapse. As a matter of fact, he was not so much puzzled as 
surprised. He recognised it as so clearly a case of nervous 
breakdown, that he was frankly curious to discover how it 
could have been caused. That a man living such an open- 
air existence as the crabber, not given to excess on any 
side of life, and presumably not harassed by acute mental 
anxieties, should collapse as Ezekiel had done, struck the 
doctor as somewhat strange. Had he known of the 
crabber’s many sleepless nights, of his intense fits of mental 
and spiritual anguish, and of his moody and almost morbid 
hankering after solitude, the functional derangement and 
consequent rnal-nutrition that had ensued, would have ex- 
plained everything to the doctor’s mind and the case would 
have been clear to him. As matters stood, however, the 
collapse certainly puzzled him. He decided that it must 
be due to long-continued under-feeding, and to excess of 
worry in some form — probably sordid and domestic. It 
was possible that the effects of these had been considerably 
aggravated by prolonged exposure on the fishing-boats during 
the recent stormy weather : perhaps, also, to his having had 
to work beyond his strength — seeing the enfeebled condition 
of his system. In any case, as far as the winning of his 
bread was concerned, Ezekiel was out of the battle at 
present : and out of it he was likely to remain for many 
months to come. Whether he would ever enter it again 
with anything like his old vigour, depended entirely on the 
care with which (during the next month or two) he abstained 
from exhausting effort and from worry or excitement — 


TWO WOMEN AND A MAN 


225 


worry, or excitement, of any kind/” the doctor repeated 
emphatically. To -think of returning to the fishing-boats 
this winter, would be madness. He was physically incapable 
of enduring the strain and the exposure : and if he were 
insane enough to attempt it, in the face of the warning 
he had just had, his reward would probably be a stroke of 
paralysis. Quiet and rest he must hav’^e — that was impera- 
tive ! Rest ” must be his motto : rest always, and rest 
everywhere. And the luxury of worry, which he had evi- 
dently been over-indulging in of late, he must abstain from 
as rigidly as if the worry were gin or brandy, and he wanted 
to escape an attack of delirium tremens. 

Malva listened to the doctor laying down the law on these 
lines, in much the same spirit as the wife of a consumptive 
London clerk — vrho listens, with an aching heart, while the 
doctor suggests blandly, that her husband should try to 
winter in a warm southern climate, or should take a voyage 
to Australia and back to brace him up. 

Cessation from active work she might compel him to, after 
a fashion : though wLere the bread for the household w'as 
to come from in the interval, was a side of the question that 
the doctor had overlooked. But quiet — rest of mind, complete 
freedom from mental worry — it was as impossible for Malva 
to procure this for him, or, indeed, for Ezekiel to grasp it 
for himself, as it would be for a wounded cormorant to settle 
down in a farmyard and pick up its living thankfully among 
the pullets and the pigs. 

Malva did not discuss the matter with the doctor, aware, 
as she was, of the utter uselessness of doing so. She merely 
asked him if he thought it would harm Ezekiel if he were 
moved down to the cottage in the cove in a day or two — 
Ezekiel feeling in Drusilla's cottage like a man in a pest- 
house : everything here being to him an eyesore and an 
offence ; all the furniture, the very cup and saucer that he 
used, reminding him of the hated source from whence it had 
been procured. 

No,” said the doctor, it w'on’t harm him in the least. 
If it will ease his mind in any way, move him as soon as you 

p 


226 


EZEKIELS SIN 


like. But don’t let him walk — even if he thinks he is able 
to. Take him down in a cab^ or in a waggon, in a cart, or in 
anything. Remember,” he remarked again, as he was getting 
into his gig, what he wants is absolute rest, and the most 
perfect quiet that you can procure him. Strain, or worry of 
any kind, will be as bad as poison for him at present ! ” 

Iss, doctor, ril remember,” Malva answered sadly, as the 
doctor touched his horse and rapidly drove aw^ay. 

As the doctor left the cottage, the dusk was submerging 
the world like a tide rising rapidly : wave after wave of 
shadow, of growing density and volume, seeming to flow 
across the valleys andL deepen there steadily. Already, near 
the spinneys and in the hollows of the hills, the darkness was 
as densely black as it would be in the open at midnight : and 
though the tops of the hills were still visible against the sky, 
their lower slopes and the moors at their feet were an indis- 
tinguishable lake of shadows. 

To Morvenna, looking out from the lighted interior of the 
kitchen, the bottoms, with their pool of darkness rising 
almost to the skyline, seemed a place of terrors and surprises, 
of secret ambushes and things to tremble at : and as she 
listened to the hooting of an owl from a distant clump of 
trees and the grievous lamenting and wailing of the wind, 
her heart seemed to constrict with sadness and her breath 
almost to come with pain. 

As she stood here staring into the shadows, she was 
suddenly aware of a blotch of blackness that became detached, 
as it w^ere, from the less sooty dusk, and in its odd, humped 
formlessness began to steal towards the cottage, much as if 
it were an imp, or something equally uncanny, begotten by 
the gathering shadows and compact of all the evil in them. 

As the blotch of shadow stealthily approached the cottage, 
Morvenna presently realised that it must be the hated little 
pedlar, and, turning towards Malva, she cried to her ex- 
citedly, “ Mother, the pedlar’s coming ! he’s almost at the 
gate ! I shan’t stay in the kitchen to see him,” she added 
nervously : I shall go upstairs to keep father company, 

while he’s here.” 


TWO WOMEN AND A MAN 


227 


IsSj thee do so^ me cheeld/’ replied Malva ; to whom 
facing the unhappiness that others shrank from, would by 
no means be a novelty among the grey scenes of memory. 
‘^‘^Thy faather do like to hear’ee singin’, b’leeve,” she added, 
as Morvenna stood at the foot of the steep little stairs ; ^^sing 
to un, me dear, while we’re down here talkin’. That es, ef 
he’ll lev’ee. P’raps then he waan’t notice the voices in the 
kitchen.” 

Yes, mother, I will ; if he’ll let me,” replied Morvenna ; 
tip- toeing upstairs as rapidly as possible, as at that moment 
she heard the pedlar rapping at the door. 

At the soft rat-tatj a strange, withering touch seemed to 
pass across the faces of both the women in the kitchen : the 
glimmer of fright in their eyes, and the fading of the colour 
from their lips, being, perhaps, the most noticeable signs of it. 

^^Oppen the door to un, Drusilla,” said Malva, to her 
daughter. 

Drusilla went forward and opened the door. 

And immediately Morvenna, who had been listening in- 
tently for this signal, started singing to her father in her 
sweet girlish voice : a voice which, perfunctorily though it 
had been educated (and that merely in the ordinary singing- 
lessons of the school), had still in its manipulation a touch of 
training and of method. 

Morvenna had chosen a hymn full of hope and jubila- 
tion, and in which her voice could ring out with sufficient 
clearness and volume to fill the little bedroom to the ex- 
clusion of other sounds : and the words were even audible 
in the kitchen under her, as the girl’s voice rose up sweetly 
and purely : — 

The whole world was lost in the darkness of sin — 

The Light of the world is Jesus ! 

Like sunshine at noonday His glory shone in — 

The Light of the world is Jesus ! 

Come to the Light ! ’tis shining for thee : 

Sweetly the Light has dawned upon me: 

Once I was blind, hut now I can see — 

The Light of the world is Jesus ! ” 


228 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Meanwhile in the kitchen, in which the candle was now 
lighted, the pedlar, as he limped in, was demanding harshly. 

Well, got the money all right for me, missis ? I hadn’t got 
much spare time on me hands.” And with this he seated 
himself, uninvited, in a chair near the fire, Brasilia closing 
the door carefully behind him. 

“ Iss, the money’s here,” answered Malva meekly. " Got 
it in thy pocket,^b’leeve, ha’n’t’ee, Drusilla } ” 

Iss, I got it all right,” said Drusilla. And seating herself 
in a chair, on the opposite side of the fireplace, she leisurely 
took the money from her pocket and, as leisurely, began to 
count it out on her lap. That she might remember the 
schoolmaster’s lesson with anything like clearness, and stand 
the strain of acting a part that was dictated from without, 
and was in no way the deliberate outcome of her tempera- 
ment, it was essential that she should exercise the sternest 
self-control. This she recognised with a sense of exces- 
sive nervousness : afraid to make a single move that her 
lesson did not warrant. And in the face of the watchful and 
hated little pedlar — whose mere presence disturbed her to 
the very marrow of her bones — this effort at self-control had 
to be so deliberate that it taxed her nature to its fullest 
extent, as she was aware in every fibre. 

The pedlar sat rubbing his dirty hands together, his 
shoulders humped up almost to his ears, and his little beady 
eyes fixed watchfully on the coins. 

Twenty suvrins it was to be, so father said,” remarked 
Drusilla, looking across at the pedlar. 

Iss, tha’s right, me dear ! twenty suvrins.” 

Drusilla counted them over carefully. One, two . . . 
seven . . . twelve . . . fourteen . . . sixteen . . . nineteen, 
twenty. Iss, I got them all right. And now, where’s the 
bill o’ sale ? ” 

The pedlar produced the paper from the breast-pocket of 
his coat, and held it in his hand, partly unfolded. 

coorse,” remarked Drusilla, to Tom the Hangman, 
"thee knaw how we come by this here money : every penny 
of it come out o’ that dead man’s bilt.” 


TWO WOMEN AND A MAN 229 

“ Iss, iss, I knaw. No need at all to go into it, me dear/" 
interposed the pedlar, watching the gold greedily. 

Malva sat rigid and silent at the end of the kitchen-table, 
her eyes behind her spectacles blurring mistily. But Drusilla 
persisted, clinging to the terms of her lesson, Not a suvrin 
of it was come by honestly, so to spaik.’" 

‘‘ Iss, iss, I knaw ! ” repeated the pedlar impatiently. 

Malva lifted her apron furtively, her hard, knotted hands 
shaking like an aspen-leaf, and secretly wiped the tears from 
her eyes. Her heart was swelling with an anguish incapable 
of utterance, and a 'Hump"’ was rising in her throat and 
almost choking her. She would have given half a week’s 
food to have been able to weep openly, or to sob aloud for 
a minute, to ease her burdened heart. 

And, meanwhile, Morvenna’s voice floated down to them 
silverly, sounding at Ezekiel’s bedside the pathetic cry of 
resignation : — 

My God, my Father, while I stray 
Far from my home, on life's rough way. 

Oh, teach me from my heart to say — 

Thy will he done ! ” 

" Well,” resumed Drusilla, drawing a long, sighing breath, 
in order to relieve the tension on her nerves, " well . . . ten 
pounds es for the bill o’ sale, b’leeve.” 

" Iss, tha’s right ! ” remarked the pedlar eagerly. 

" And ten pounds es for ' hush money ’ — to pay’ee for keepin’ 
thy mouth shut.” 

" Iss ; tha’s so ! Thee got it all so pat, me dear, as ef 
thee’d lamed it out of a book ! ” said the pedlar, leaning 
towards her with a little sneering laugh. 

" Well, give mother the bill o’ sale — an’ here’s the ten 
pounds for it.” 

" The money fust, plaise,” said the pedlar sharply. 

" I’ll put the money in thy hand when thee give mother 
the bill o’ sale. Not a minute before ! ” replied Drusilla 
stubbornly. " Here "tes ! ” and she extended her hand 
with her fingers closed on the coins tightly. "Thee can 


230 


EZEKIELS SIN 


howld me hand while thee'rt passin* the paper, ef thee’rt 
frightened about it. But thee’ll have to give ovver the 
bill o’ sale to mother, all fair an’ square,” she insisted 
nervously, ’fore I trust’ee weth the ten pounds : like it 
or no ! ” 

The pedlar stared at her with a scowl, and for a moment 
fingered the^paper hesitatingly. But as he glanced at Malva’s 
face, down which the tears were trickling slowly, he seemed 
to be reassured, or, at least, satisfied in his thoughts. 

Making a hasty, darting clutch at Drusilla’s extended hand 
(over which his thin fingers closed like a vice) with the other 
hand he tossed the bill of sale on the table. 

" Mother ! ” cried Drusilla. 

Malva seized the paper obediently, and immediately passed 
it over to her daughter’s disengaged hand. 

At the same instant Drusilla unclosed her fingers, and (not 
without an involuntary shudder) let the pedlar scoop up the 
coins from her palm. 

The moment her hand was free, Drusilla, with a movement 
of the most feverish haste, rolled up her apron with the 
remaining coins in it. And then, while the pedlar was count- 
ing the sovereigns and examining them, biting each between 
his teeth and weighing it carefully in his dirty fingers, she 
glanced hurriedly through the contents of the paper her 
mother had handed her. 

As the pedlar lifted his head — it all took place in about 
a minute — Drusilla nodded rapidly and reassuringly to 
Malva : and then (remarking hurriedly, Iss, ’tes all right, 
mother ! ”) she twisted up the paper and thrust it into the 
fire. 

^^Aw! what’ee done that for.^” cried the pedlar, jumping 
to his feet. But the paper had vanished into nothingness 
even as the words were being uttered. Taken aback at a 
proceeding which he was at a loss to seize the significance 
of, he repeated his question angrily, ^^What possessed’ ee to 
do that ? ” 

Ignoring him, Drusilla remarked calmly to Malva, " Now 
then, mother, tha’s out o’ the way ! Every stick o’ furniture 


TWO WOMEN AND A MAN 


231 


in the house es me awn agen ! ” she added^ lifting her head 
and glancing around the kitchen. 

Wha’s the mainin’ o’ this ? ” demanded the pedlar, with 
bullying fierceness ; suspicious that the women had laid some 
trap for him. Darn’ee, ’tes no use you wemmin try in’ to 
chayte me ! ” His face dark with rage, his eyes glowing 
evilly, he cried savagely (at one moment turning towards 
Malva, the next shaking his clenched fist passionately at 
Drusilla) “ Ef ayther of ee try to chayte me out o’ me money, 
darn’ee ! — ef I don’t git they ten pounds thy snaik of a 
faather promised me, I’ll have un in to Penzaance jail before 
the night es out ! Iss — livin’ or dyin’, I don’t keer a button! 
— I’ll have his darned owld carcass in there, cuss’ee ! ef I 
have to hale un in by the heer of his head ! ” 

^^Thee shall ha’ the money right enough,” Drusilla replied 
calmly. Father promised it to’ee, b’leeve ; an’ I got it 
here to give’ee.” 

Give un the money, an’ lev’ un go I ” quavered Malva 
from her corner. 

“ Iss, darn’ee I thee better do it, an’ that putty quick ; else 
it’ll be the wuss for’ee I ” growled the pedlar bullyingly. 

“ O’ coorse : we do knaw that : else thee wedn’ git it. 
But, bein’ as matters are,” remarked Drusilla, as if reluctantly, 
s’pose I’d better hand it ovver ; though it do go agen the 
grain.” 

Iss, that thee had I agen the grain or no ! ” the pedlar 
retorted, nodding his head at her menacingly. 

" Well,” said Drusilla with another long, sighing breath, 
" o’ coorse thee do knaw, as well as we do, that all thaise ” 
— and here she held up her apron, its pouched contents 
gathered together as in a bag — that all thaise (every penny 
of them, mind I) come out o’ the hilt o’ that dead man. Thee 
don’t mind takin’ them because o’ that, do’ee } ” 

Not a bit, cuss it all ! Why shud I W cried the pedlar. 

^^An’ thee knaw they’re for ^ hush money ^ to pay’ee for 
howddin’ thy tongue — howldin’ thy tongue about the bilt, 
an’ how father come by it ? Thee onderstand that } ” de- 
manded Drusilla with careful slowness. 


232 


EZEKIEVS SIN 


" IsSj iss — I onderstand ! ” retorted the pedlar impatiently. 
“ Gi’s the money — an’ howld thy tongue ! Here ! hand it 
ovver ! ” 

Tha’s all right, then ; so long as we oAderstand/’ re- 
marked Drusilla, untwisting her apron and holding it up with 
both her hands. There’s the payment for howldin’ thy 
tongue — an’ ev’ry suvrin of it stawlen money, mind ! ” And 
she held out her apron that he might seize the coins himself. 

" Iss, iss, darn’ee ! shut up thy clack ! ” the pedlar cried 
brutally, as he counted the coins and pocketed them. 

And, the while, from the chamber Morvenna’s voice rang 
out sweetly : — 

‘^He leadeth me! Oh, blessed thought! 

Oh, words with heavenly comfort fraught! 

Whateer I do, where'er I he. 

Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me! 

He leadeth me ! He leadeth me ! 

By His own hand He leadeth me!** 

As the pedlar now turned on his heel to leave the cottage, 
Drusilla remarked to him, in a tone of assumed carelessness, 
“ S’pose thee knaw how we do stand to wan anawther in this 
matter now Thee’rt prepared for all the consequences, 
s’pose, o’ what thee’ve done 

“ Eh } What’ee mayne } ” retorted the pedlar, turning 
and fronting her ; something peculiar in her tone striking 
him unpleasantly. 

“ I ben consultin’ weth a friend about thee an’ our- 
selves ...” 

What friend ? ” demanded the pedlar : his eyes turning 
from one to the other of the women with a close, watchful 
scrutiny, full of suspicion. 

‘‘ A friend who’s more’n a bit up in they law matters,” 
replied Drusilla : got them all at his finger ends, he bein’ 
in the business.” 

What have the law got to do weth a saycret between 
ourselves : a saycret between friends ?” he remarked, with 
wheedling softness. 


TWO WOMEN AND A MAN 


238 


Drusilla went on, without heeding the interruption, the 
note of triumph distinctly noticeable in the inflection of her 
voice. And he do tell me, by doin’ what thee just ben an’ 
done — takin’ stawlen money to pay’ee for keepin’ the thing 
saycret — thee’ve put thyself into a putty tight hawl.” Dru- 
silla brought out the words with full value to every syllable. 

Thee’ve ben compoundin a felony — nayther more nor less !” 

^‘^Who put they words in thy mouth demanded the 
pedlar; the eager fierceness of his tones and the alarmed 
excitement in his eyes, evidencing how deeply the words 
had disquieted him. 

“ And the punishment for that, for compoundin a felony, 
so he towdd me : es fine an’ imprisonment — nayther more 
nor less ! ” 

The pedlar broke out into a torrent of startling profanity : 
the brutal vehemence of his passion making Malva shudder 
and turn white. 

So now thee knaw where thee do stand,” rejoined 
Drusilla ; the assured confidence of her bearing, as well as 
of her tones, exasperating him to an extent that almost 
maddened him. “ Oppen thy ugly little mouth, you black- 
hearted varmunt, to say a single word agen father, or any 
of us : and off to Penzaance I’ll go an’ make a clean breast 
of it,” she added, returning now to her old, natural manner. 

And then (me sly owld fox, as thee thought theeself) then 
theell come in for thy share o’ the mischief. Compoundin’ 
a felony, thee ben guilty of ; and fine an’ imprisonment es 
what thee’ll git for it,” Drusilla repeated, flinging the words 
at him tauntingly. “ Fine an’ imprisonment, thou little 
booba ! an’ all for ten pounds ! ” 

Ef thee hadn’ burned that bill o’ sale ...” 

Like to have the ashes of it ? ” 

Ef I onnly got a hint of this afore, me fine beauty ! ” 

Come ! wan more ef ! Ef thee warn’t a little booba, 

say . . . 

The pedlar burst out into such a violent rush of oaths that 
even Drusilla was appalled and was almost stunned into 
silence. 


234 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Never mind ! never mind !"* screeched the pedlar, some- 
what recovering himself. I warn’t the onnly man that see’d 
it : though I meant to ha’ kept that quiet. There was an- 
awther man, a gen’leman, see’d thy faather as well as meself. 
He was up ’pon the clefFs weth his spyglass, geekin’ out at 
thy faather : an’ I borrowed his glass from un just to tell un 
what it mayned. He got to be reckoned weth ...” 

By thee as much as by we ! Dont’ee lose sight o’ that, 
there’s a dear ! ” cried Drusilla tauntingly. “ Whatever do 
happen to we, thee rt in the swem, too ! What ef it es 
onnly fine an’ imprisonment : ayven a little thing like that 
es enough to make a man uncomfortable. And wance in 
jail, thee’ll often be in, knawin’ee as folks do. Wance the 
p’leece got a hand on thy shoulder, owld fox, they waan’t be 
in no hurry to take it off! ” she added viciously. 

Every word, as she guessed (and to a greater extent than 
she had any idea of) told on the pedlar’s fears to an almost 
maddening degree. Let him once get under the ban, and 
in the hands of the police, and he would collapse like a 
pricked bubble, as far as his character was concerned. One 
week in jail would be enough to ruin him completely. Of 
this he was fully aware ; no one knew it better, than himself. 
And in his fury at being thus trapped by a couple of women, 
the pedlar felt that if he could only have got Drusilla’s 
windpipe between his fingers he would have squeezed the 
life out of her with as little compunction as if she were 
a hen ! 

Shaking his fist at her menacingly, he hobbled swiftly to 
the door, and was out of the cottage and lost in the starless 
blackness of the night, almost before they fully realised that 
they had actually got rid of him. 

And at that moment, in the sudden silence, as Drusilla 
was locking and bolting the door, they could hear the voice 
of Morvenna singing softly to her father : — 

** Abide with me, fast falls the eventide : 

The darkness deepens : Lord, with me abide ! 

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, 

Help of the helpless. Oh, abide with me ! ” 


TWO WOMEN AND A MAN 


9.S5 


"Ay/’ remarked Malva, who was now weeping openly, 
'^the dear cheeld may well say a prayer for her poor faather: 
he’s friendless enough, poor, dear saul, as it es ! ” 

Suddenly they heard Morvenna give a wild, startled cry; 
which was followed by a medley of noises that made their 
blood run cold. 

Malva was on her feet in an instant, and so was Drusilla : 
both running across the kitchen and up the narrow stairs 
almost as if their lives depended on their haste. 

But before they could reach the landing Morvenna had 
rushed out to them, crying down sobbingly to them in her 
affright, Quick ! quick ! father has a fit, or something ! 
Oh ! I’m afraid he’s dying — whatever shall we do ! ” 

With that morbid acuteness of hearing characteristic of his 
condition, Ezekiel — in spite of the singing, for which he had 
divined the reason — had overheard enough of the conver- 
sation in the kitchen to understand its drift, to which he 
already had the clue. And he had lived through the 
emotional strain of the scene there, almost as harassingly 
as the women themselves. 

But the outlets of speech and of gesture, in his case, had 
been denied to him : and his agitation had heightened, in 
consequence, to the pitch of veritable torture. 

Hence the “ fit ” — as the women vaguely characterised it 
— was really one of those violent, convulsive explosions by 
which the nervous system, in cases of such undue strain on it, 
struggles to adjust the balance and to avert effects more 
disastrous. 

And Ezekiel, when the explosion presently had spent 
itself, sank at last, through sheer exhaustion, into a heavy, 
troubled sleep, as grateful to the watchers as it was vitally 
necessary to himself. 


236 


EZEKIELS SIN 


CHAPTER XXXV 

AT THE END OF THE DAY 

On the morrow, as he felt his strength flowing back slowly, 
Ezekiel proclaimed his intention of returning to the cove. 

He wanted to be at home in his own cottage, among 
the familiar things of memory : where he could see and 
hear the waves, could watch the gulls and smell the sea- 
weed, and, merely by looking abroad and quietly listening, 
could resume the personality that here he seemed divorced 
from. 

A skyline of rugged hilltops in the one direction, and in 
the other of thorn-bushes, brambles, and clumps of trees, 
seemed to fret him in a vague, harassing way : and the green 
stretch of bottoms with its wealth of berries, and even its 
abundant and novel bird-life, had little interest in the eyes 
of the grey old crabber ; no longer anxious for new and 
unusual impressions, and to whom the sea, with its ever- 
changeful movement and intonation, was the one thing 
familiar enough to be absolutely restful to him. 

It was the first time in his life, and he was now close on 
sixty, that he had slept, even for a single night, away from 
the sea : and he protested that, up here, he should never feel 
at home ; and that, till he felt at home, he could never get 
back his strength — a deprivation that he rebelled against 
almost as unreasonably as a child. 

That the cottage interior was for him a veritable torture- 
chamber — filled as it was, in every direction, with reminders 
of his sin — Ezekiel, for many reasons, did not care to hint. 
But this Malva had instinctively divined from the first. And 
it was for this reason that she was so anxious to get him 
down to the cove. 

It took him hours, however — all the morning, in fact — to 
recover from the prostration that had followed his attack of 
the previous night. And even when he was again, to a 


AT THE END OF THE DAY 


^31 


certain extent, himself — once more able to control the organs 
of locomotion and to enunciate with reasonable clearness and 
accuracy — he was still so weak and tired, and so full of pain, 
that he was as empty of energy as a half-drowned earth- 
worm, and scarcely cared even to open his lips. 

From time to time, however, he kept questioning Malva 
and Driisilla for full particulars of the pedlar’s visit : his half- 
knowledge of the interview by no means satisfying him. 

Finally, in order to quiet him somewhat, they gave him an 
account of the scene as reasonably complete as they thought 
it would be wise for him to hear just at present. But they 
did not like to explain to him, while he was so weak, that 
Morvenna had confided to the schoolmaster all she knew’ 
about the money ; and they were even more afraid of men- 
tioning (however vaguely) the pedlar’s parting revelation, 
with the new terrors it had unleashed. 

As a consequence, they were considerably hampered, and 
became not a little muddled, in their rambling and stumbling 
account of the interview. And their report of it left defi- 
nitely on Ezekiel’s mind the impression that the pedlar’s 
attitude was as menacing as ever. The check upon Tom’s 
malice, at which they had hinted vaguely, entirely failing to 
find a lodgment in Ezekiel’s memory : as, owfing to their 
confused manner, he had not the faintest idea that the hint 
was in any way based upon fact. 

The result was, that the recent developments of the situa- 
tion w’ere so carefully concealed from him — of course, with 
the best of motives — that he was left completely at the 
mercy of any events that might spring out of them : as Malva 
and Drusilla one day were to discover to their cost. 

They had an early dinner, but Ezekiel could only eat a 
few mouthfuls; craving, how’ever, for tea, of which he drank 
copiously. 

After dinner, Drusilla suggested to her mother that Mor- 
venna should go round to the miller’s house and should 
ask him if he would drive Ezekiel down to the cove : ex- 
plaining, as far as was necessary, wdiy the request was made. 
If the miller were willing to do so — which Drusilla scarcely 


238 


EZEKIELS SIN 


doubted — Morvenna was to return at once, without waiting 
for him to accompany her, that Drusilla might set off for the 
cove without delay : as she wanted to have the fire lighted, 
and everything comfortable, by the time her father and the 
miller should arrive at the cottage. 

So Morvenna put on her hat and hurried off to the miller ; 
and, in less than half-an-hour, returned with the news that 
the trap in a few minutes would be at the door : the miller 
being only too glad (so he had told her) to take them for a 
drive on such a beautiful afternoon. 

Drusilla left the cottage almost immediately : being anxious 
(as she had only her week-day clothes) to get down to the 
cove before the miller could overtake her. 

When the miller arrived at the cottage he was therefore 
keenly disappointed at finding that the one person whose 
presence he was desirous of was already nearly half-way down 
to Polurrian, and possibly might not be met with this side 
of the cove. 

Seeing how frettedly anxious he was to overtake Drusilla 
and offer her a seat, the considerate slowness with which 
he drove them home was as creditable to his self-control as 
it was to his neighbourly kindness. Indeed, his friendly be- 
haviour throughout presently set Malva wondering whether 
there might not be something” — some latent hint of senti- 
ment, perhaps — still lingering between and linking Drusilla 
and himself Possibly (thought Malva, in a fleeting moment 
of reverie) it was some remembrance of those old days when 
they were young folks sweethearting and were dreaming 
that by this time they would be happily man and wife. But 
thoughts of this kind, of course, were as elusive as sand- 
launces ^ : and Malva let them slip from her with complete 
unconcern. 

They were driving slowly down the lane that led from the 
turnpike to the cove, when they caught sight of the school- 
master sauntering leisurely between the hedgerows ; his 

^ An eel-like fish, whose wriggling agility makes it most difiScult 
to capture. 


AT THE END OF THE DAY 239 

hands clasped behind his back and his pipe^ as usualj in 
his mouth. 

Immediately Morvenna perceived him, her face seemed 
to brighten and to flush with new life : a suppressed rest- 
lessness at the same time fluttering through her system. 

As the trap approached him noisily over the rough cart- 
way, the schoolmaster turned round sharply to reconnoitre ; 
and was considerably surprised at seeing his little sweet- 
heart staring down at him from her seat beside the miller. 

Wait a minute, please ! ” cried Morvenna to the miller : 
colouring prettily in her girlish embarrassment : I’m sure 
Mr. Richards will want to know about father.” 

So the miller stopped the horse, and Morvenna, turning to 
her mother, explained that the schoolmaster was just in front 
of them. 

^^Well, me dear, git down an’ walk on weth un,” said 
Malva. ^‘^Thee’ll be down to cove, then, ’most as soon as 
we shall.” 

^^Very well, mother, I will if you don’t mind.” And 
Morvenna turned to the schoolmaster, now not a couple of 
yards distant from the trap, and beckoned to him to come 
and assist her to get down. 

The schoolmaster was only too pleased to have the oppor- 
tunity of thus holding her in his arms, even for the brief 
interval while he w^as lifting her from the trap. And the 
miller, watching the tell-tale delight in their faces, felt a 
sharp pang of envy at their evident happiness. At the same 
time, however, he recognised, very clearly, that the happi- 
ness that might have been his he had himself thrown 
away ; no one had snatched it from him, or even tricked 
him out of it. I was a fool not to have got her while I 
had the chance ! ” the miller discontentedly muttered to 
himself. And therewith he fell to contrasting Morvenna with 
Drusilla, and decided promptly that Drusilla was in every 
way preferable to this slip of a girl, young and fresh though 
she was. 

To old folks, who have lived through and almost forgotten 
such experiences, this engrossment of the unmarried in the 


240 


EZEKIELS SIN 


things and thoughts of pairing-time, occasionally seems little 
less than appalling. They almost fancy that even when the 
trump of doom is sounding there will be lovers so absorbed 
in making up quarrels and kissing, in planning and dreaming 
of marriage and all the delights consequent on it, that they 
will scarcely hear the summons though it wakens the very 
dead beneath their feet. To Malva, sitting here with her 
ailing husband at her side, a thought not unlike* this, though 
entirely without bitterness, flashed momentarily (even if 
vaguely) through her mind : and she realised how heartily 
glad she would be (for their own sakes quite as much as 
W her own) when this unrest of pairing-time was over for 
both her daughters ; and, with the fever out of their systems, 
they would be a comfort to her at last. 

For the present, however, the problem of the present 
had to be faced : and certainly for lovers, usually so selfish, 
the schoolmaster and Morvenna appeared to be reasonably 
sympathetic. 

In Ezekiel’s collapse, with its train of consequences, the 
schoolmaster showed the keenest and most friendly in- 
terest: and the expression of his regret, though restrained 
in utterance, had in it the unmistakable ring of sincerity 
Unaware that the schoolmaster knew of his sin, Ezekiel 
was surprised (in fact, almost to weakness) at the sympa- 
thetic friendliness of the schoolmaster’s attitude : the deep 
human note, so distinctly sounded in Paul’s utterance, being 
evidently the outcome of a very genuine sympathy. 

Accordingly, when the trap presently drove on again 
(leaving Morvenna and the schoolmaster waving their 
hands in the middle of the roadway), Ezekiel remarked 
that Morvenna had got hold of as good a man as she would 
have been likely to find in half-a-dozen parishes, and he 
only hoped, for his part, that she would have sense enough 
to keep him. 

I hope so, too. I’m sure ; an’ I think she will,” said 
Malva: ‘^^they do sim as fond of wan anawther as a couple 
o’ guinea-pigs.” 

Meanwhile, in the little cottage in Fisherman’s Row, 


AT THE END OF THE DAY’ 


241 


Drusilla was as busy as she could very well be. She had 
hurried down to the cove as rapidly as she could, and had 
been beset on all hands by questions and condolences as 
soon as she had showed her face within sight of the 
row. Even now, while she was putting things straight 
in the kitchen — the fire, the while, blazing away cheerfully 
under the kettle — a couple of the neighbours were hanging 
around her ; under the pretence of assisting her, it is true, 
but really in order to gossip, which they were doing to their 
heart's content. 

When the trap drove up with Ezekiel and Malva, practi- 
cally all in the row were there to welcome them : and the 
old couple, knowing what the illness was due to, felt as 
troubled and confused at the unexpected greeting as if 
Ezekiel were just coming home from prison ; and they 
could scarcely summon up courage enough to look their 
acquaintances in the face. 

^^Ef they knawed all about me,” thought Ezekiel drearily, 
they’d stone me out o’ the cove, instead o’ shakin’ hands 
weth me. Hope I shall be dead before they git to knaw it. 
Onnly wish I was dead now,” he mused, holding to life nerve- 
lessly, and desiring above all things the advent of the Merciful 
One — in whose arms we shall all of us fall asleep at last. 
Desiring its coming not with the impatience of youth, whose 
appetite, as it chances to be obstructed or satisfied, now 
makes, and presently will cancel, the ephemeral desire : but 
longing for it with the sad and weary longing of old age — 
the longing of one who sees the battle going against him in 
all directions, and is profoundly thankful for the promise of 
rest and the long oblivion of its sleep. 


Q 


242 


EZEKIELS SIN 


CHAPTER XXXVI 

AN ELECTRIC ATMOSPHERE 

The miller, being asked by Malva if he would have a cup of 
tea with them, was only too pleased to accept the invitation ; 
more especially as it was arranged that, when he drove back, 
Drusilla (nothing loth) should accompany him in the trap. 

The schoolmaster had left Morvenna at the little foot- 
bridge, and the girl accordingly came indoors with her cheeks 
full of colour and the happiness of April shining in her eyes. 
The schoolmaster and herself had been planning their future 
together — treating their marriage next spring as almost a 
certainty — and her brain was now brimful of the most delicious 
imaginings, her pulse the while leaping and dancing in re- 
sponse. It was impossible not to notice the joyousness of her 
bearing : the delight, half shy, half significantly arch. If the 
kisses on her lips and cheeks, and the passionate thoughts 
born of them, were guessed at by her parents (she said to 
herself, blushingly), well, they no doubt had gone through the 
same experiences when they were courting, and, should they 
question her eyes for hers, she was sure they would under- 
stand. In any case, she had little more than six months to 
wait, and then she would be a wife with all the doors of life 
open to her, and the significant smiles of others she would be 
able to answer smile for smile. And with thoughts like these 
dancing delightedly before her, Morvenna took off her hat 
and seated herself at the tea-table, undoubtedly in every way 
the happiest of the group. 

As they drove back to Choone through the waning sunset, 
Drusilla and the miller drifted somewhat gradually (but with- 
out any squeamish pretence of reluctance) into a conversation 
that on both sides was frankly confidential : confidential to a 
degree that had only been rendered possible by the excep- 
tional events of the last few days, and by the equally 
exceptional closeness of their relations in consequence. 


AN ELECTRIC ATMOSPHERE 


243 


The miller suggested to Drusilla that^ as Joe had deserted 
her_, she should come to live with him after waiting; for a 
decent interval ; say, for five or six months, or less, if she 
w’ere willing. He -would marry her if they could get any one 
to perform the ceremony, but he was afraid that this would 
be impossible until several years had elapsed ; and he saw no 
reason why they should lose six or seven years merely to 
please the chattering gossip of the parish — which would be 
just as active, for that matter, seven years hence, as it would 
be to-day, and with quite as much reason. When they 
were living together, if Joe heard of it (and they would try 
to let him know somehow) he could get a divorce easily, and 
that would make a free woman of her ; and then they would 
be married at once and everything would be all right. 

Drusilla admitted, with perfect frankness (what was the 
use of pretending now } ) that she was quite as willing to live 
with him, married or unmarried, as he could possibly be to 
have her — so fully did she trust him. But one thing — and 
one thing only — prevented her. Seeing how full of trouble 
her father’s life was, she was determined never to add another 
straw’s weight to his burdens. While he was alive, she 
would keep single, unless Joe should happen to die : in which 
case, they would be married and nothing more need be said. 
If her father were dead to-morrow, and the miller were still 
of the same mind, she would share the latter’s house willingly, 
without a shadow of reluctance. The folks might chatter as 
much as they liked, it would be a matter of indifference to 
her : she would please herself and him, and let the world 
whistle. 

The miller tried hard to induce her to alter her mind. 
But coming so recently from the stricken little household in 
the cove, and having Ezekiel’s shaken figure still present to 
his thoughts, he felt the reasonableness of her decision under 
the circumstances, and had not the heart to press his advan- 
tage as he would have done had matters been otherwise. 

In the end, it was clearly understood between them, that, 
on the death of Ezekiel, whenever that might happen, 
Drusilla and the miller would live together as man and wife. 


244 


EZEKIELS SIN 


But if Joe should die first — as she heartily hoped he would — 
she pledged herself here to the miller this evening (and that 
in true sweetheart fashion^ her lips clinging to his passion- 
ately) that she would be ready to marry him at an hour’s 
notice^ if she were only a widow for half a day ! 

And with this pledge the miller had perforce to be content. 

The next morning, however, the unexpected happened. 
Or, rather (to be strictly accurate), it had probably happened 
hours before that drive in the trap when they were pledging 
themselves so frankly and so passionately to each other ; 
though it was only the next morning that the revelation 
came to them. 

About the middle of the morning, when the work at the 
mill was somewhat slack, and the miller was standing at the 
door whistling to himself thoughtfully, a messenger-boy came 
from the post-office in Newlyn with a telegram whose con- 
tents startled the miller not a little. 

A body— described briefly, but quite clearly enough for the 
miller to feel sure it was Joe Rosevear — had been founds 
late on Sunday evening, in one of the Liverpool docks : and 
so far, apparently, there was no clue to its identity except a 
couple of bill-heads and a torn delivery note bearing the 
miller’s name and address, with the addition of some inde- 
cipherable notes and figures in pencil. Mr. Pengelly was 
asked if he could come to Liverpool at once, in order to see 
if he could identify the body, as it was believed to be a case 
of robbery and murder. All his expenses would be paid, and 
he would be indemnified for loss of time : and the telegram 
was reply paid,” that he might answer without delay. 

The miller immediately sat down and wrote out a reply 
to the effect that he believed he knew the man well, and 
he would be in Liverpool the next day to identify him, if 
possible. 

Slipping on his coat, he dismissed the messenger, and at 
once hurried off to Drusilla’s cottage to show her the telegram 
and discuss its contents with her, and to inform her that he 
was starting for Liverpool by the afternoon train. 

Drusilla was quite as much startled as he was : but was 


AN ELECTRIC ATMOSPHERE 


245 


equally full of hope that it would prove to be Joe’s body. 
And in the anticipation of being free for the happiness 
they had promised each other, she surrendered her lips to 
him with a passionate freedom that made their pulses leap 
madly. 

Telegraph at wance — as soon as thee’rt sure ! ” she re- 
marked to him hungrily. ‘‘ I shall want to slaip on that 
telegram to-morra night, Robert ! ” 

“ I waan’t forgit, Drusilla — that thee may depend on ! 
And remember I I shall howld’ee to thy promise,” he added. 

“ I’m willin’, and more than willin’ ef thee want me ! ” 
said Drusilla. But . . . wedn’ee like the cheeld to be born 
fust ? ” she suggested. 

‘^^No: that don’t matter. The folks wed talk anyway — 
ayven ef we waited six months. And I arn’t willin’ to wait 
a single day longer than I’m forced to.” 

^^Nayther am I, for that matter ! ” replied Drusilla, answer- 
ing his eyes. But a week or two, p’raps ...” she added, 
blushing hotly. 

Well, I’ll give’ee from now ’tell Chresmas — tha’s nearly 
eight weeks.” 

Very well : I’m content. ’Tes quite long enough for me. 
Ef ’tes onnly as we hope it es . . .” 

There’s no doubt in me mind about it ! ” 

Then Chresmas it shall be ! ” she cried to him hungrily : 
her eyes glittering eagerly, her face crimsoned to the tips 
of the ears. 

Tha’s settled, then ! At Chresmas, thee’rt mine for good 
an’ all ! For I feel as sure ’tes Joe,” he added emphatically, 
^^as that this here fist es mine, an’ not anawther man’s!” 
And he banged his fist upon the table till he made the cups 
and saucers jump. 

^^Ef it esn’ — wdiat a terrible disappointment it’ll be for 
both of us ! ” 

" It es — I feel sure ! ” the miller insisted. 

And with that, they parted on their new footing — so novel 
as almost to be intoxicating — the new footing of lovers who 
were soon to be man and wife. 


246 


EZEKIELS SIN 


CHAPTER XXXVII 

THE DEFEAT OF THE OLD 

Yes, it was Joe, right enough : there was no doubt about that. 

One glance at the dead body was sufficient to decide the 
miller, and his evidence as to identity was accepted un- 
hesitatingly. 

That Joe lay here dead, W'as as certain as anything could 
be. But how he came by his death was quite another 
matter. The police decided that it was evidently a case of 
foul play : an ugly gash on the head, and the rifled pockets, 
leading them to the conclusion almost irresistibly. But be- 
yond this point they were unable to get. They obtained a 
verdict of wilful murder” against ^^some person or persons 
unknown : ” and there the matter ended, as far as the public 
was concerned. 

As soon as he had assured himself of the identity of the 
body, the miller hastened to telegraph the fact to Drusilla : 
and in the little cottage in Choone on that Tuesday even- 
ing there was the strange spectacle of a woman reading 
the news of her husband’s murder with her heart leaping 
in her bosom with a fierce and riotous gladness, even 
while the child of the murdered man was stirring blindly 
within her. 

Taking off her wedding ring Drusilla flung it on the floor 
and stamped on it again and again with passionate energy. 
Finally she fetched the hammer and battered the ring out 
of shape with this, and then tossed it into the fire and let 
it lie there and scorch. 

“ I’m free for ever from that and from he ! *’ she cried 
fiercely. “ But the cheeld es me awn anyway : an’ when it 
do come it’ll bring its love. And I shaan’t begrudge un a 
drop of it,” she added to herself wistfully, any more than 
I shall begrudge un the milk in me breasts.” 

The murder of the intending Cornish emigrant, remained 
one of the unsolved mysteries of the Liverpool docks. Later 


THE DEFEAT OF THE OLD 


247 


in the week, when the miller returned to Choone, he brought 
with him the fact of the death clearly established and his 
pockets full of papers giving the particulars of the inquest : 
but he was unable to throw the faintest gleam of light on 
the tragedy : and a mystery — except to the murderers — it 
remains to this day. 

Malva was startled, as if by a thunderclap, when she heard 
of the murder. But the surprise caused by this was much 
less keen than was her agitation when Drusilla presently 
informed her that in less than eight weeks she and the 
miller were to be married. 

Don’t’ee think of it, me cheeld ! Malva earnestly im- 
plored her, seating herself heavily on the side of the bed. 
Drusilla had whispered to her mother to come upstairs 
for a talk, being anxious not to disturb her father — who 
W'as sitting motionless in the settle near the fire ; if not 
dozing, at least resting with his eyes closed wearily — and 
Malva had at once assented, as she now assented almost to 
everything. She had followed her daughter with her heart 
full of shapeless forebodings, taking it for granted that the 
talk could be only about troubles, but the news she was 
actually to hear she had not guessed at even dimly. Don’t’ee 
think of it, me cheeld ! ” she entreated Drusilla, helplessly. 

‘‘ We’ve made up our minds — and we mayne to do it ! ” 
replied Drusilla, doggedly. 

Aw, dear ! whatever will the neighbours say ? ” cried 
Malva : for whom the vague social conscience was practically 
as a god. 

But Drusilla recognised in her passions, and the network 
of forces that produced them, a god more intimately potent 
for herself. And if sacrifices were to be made, she was 
determined to make it to this. We’ve made up our minds : 
and we mayne to do it,” she repeated stubbornly. 

There’ll be a bra’ lot o’ talk about it in the parr-rish. 
They’ll be sure to be sayin’, why cudn’ee wait ’tell after the 
cheeld was born ? ” 

Iss, I knaw : but that don’t matter to me a pin. The 
miller do want me ; and I do want he : and we caan’t see 


248 


EZEKIELS SIN 


that waitin’ will do ayther of us any good. Ef I waited 
’tell the cheeld do come_, they’d talk just as much then. 
They’re bound to talk_, in any case^ simmin’ to me. An’ why 
shud I study they ? They’ve never studied me a dinyun.^ 
Do’ee think I dedn’ knaw when they was laughin’ at me 
about Joe ? A fat lot o’ good their sympathy wed do me, 
ef I tried to live for the next tw'elve months on the taste of 
it ! I’m bound to marr-ry agen, in any case,” she added : 
‘‘ and the sooner the better, so far as I can see.” 

“ I don’t knaw that thee’rt bound ...” 

^^Thee arn’t six-an’-twenty, mother! I knaw it plain 
enough — whenever I do meet the miller. An’ thee wed 
knaw it plain enough, too — ef thee wert six-an’-twenty.” 

^^Well . . . but that don’t alter the matter. Awther 
wemmin have had to wait more’n six months ...” 

^^Onnly because they cudn’ help it!” retorted Drusilla 
decisively. 

Then thee’rt settled on doin’ it } ” 

Iss ! I’m as much settled on it as I am on goin’ to bed 
to-night ! ” 

‘^^Well, ef thee wust, s’pose thee wust — an’ there’s a’ end 
of it. It waan’t do thy poor faather much good when he 
do hear of it, though.” 

Tha’s the wan thing that do worry me about the matter,” 
rejoined Drusilla. Everything else do run off the reel 
wethout a kink. But I caan’t see that I can do better 
than take me chance, an’ risk it. Ef I tried to live for six 
months just as I am — wethout a penny in the world to 
bless meself : onnly the clothes I stand up in : the cheeld 
cornin’ presently : and the rent, and me mayte an’ drink, 
and everything else, unprovided for — what good on earth 
wed it do to father, or to any wan else } I might sell the 
furniture, or I might try to git parr-rish relief, or I might 
ask father to support me — but how es ’a goin’ to do it ? 
His hands will be full enough of expenses, as it es : an’ how 
he can do more, I caan’t see for the life o’ me.” 


1 A little bit, in the least, 


THE DEFEAT OF THE OLD 


249 


tha’s true/’ sighed Malva dejectedly. 

After we’re marr-ried_, I shall be able to help’ee a bit. 
An’ I mayne to do it, too ! ” said Drusilla emphatically. 
^^Not that Robert will make any objection, I knaw. I feel 
sure he got too good a heart to begrudge’ee.” 

‘^‘^We shall see,” remarked Malva: who, in the face of the 
incessant crumbling that seemed to be in progress in her life, 
no longer had energy enough even to hope. Presently she 
remarked wearily, ^^Morvenna ben tellin’ me, too, that she 
an’ Mester Richards do want to git marr-ried by Easter.” 

Don’t blame her a bit ! ” responded Drusilla promptly. 
'^Oniily wish I’d had the chance when I was as young as 
she es ! I shud ’most have jumped out o’ me skin weth 
delight ! ” 

Sim to me,” quoth Malva querulously, “ everything an’ 
everywan es changing, or wantin’ to change, now-a-days. 
Soon we owld wans will be like stones covered by the tide : 
everything goin’ on ovver us, an’ we forgot by everywan.” 

^^Well . . . s’pose it got to be; come to that,” replied 
Drusilla, taking refuge in the final idea of destiny. ‘‘ I 
shall be owld, too, wan day, s’pose, ef I do live long enough : 
an’ the young wans ’ll be pushin’ me aside, just the same. 
Who knaws, p’raps the very cheeld I’m carr-ryin’ now,” she 
added, a sudden depression falling on her thoughts, ^‘'may 
give me the wuss heartache I shall ever have in me life. 
But, ef so — how can I help it } I don’t see that I can, 
nohow. What es to be, Avill be : whether wan es young 
or owld. Sometimes I do think, mother,” she remarked, 
still musingly, ^^that we wemmin have got the wust of 
it in life in every way. Cheeld-beerin’, cheeld-reerin’, an’ 
pushed aside at last— things don’t seem to be settled feer 
for us : do they, now, mother } ” 

Ah, me cheeld, thee’rt gettin’ a touch of it ! ” sighed 
Malva. ‘^‘^’Tes all’ys the way, b’leeve, so fur as I can see. 
Weth the children the trouble do come — much as we do 
long for them. They’re the beginnin’ an’ the end, for we 
wemmin, sim to me.” And with that she rose up and went 
on with some dusting. 


250 


EZEKIELS SIN 


Goin’ to lev' Morvenna be marr-ried at Easter ? ” Drusilla 
askedj after an interval of silence. 

Iss^ s’pose : she do want us so badly to agree to it. And 
weth her faather in the way he es, p raps it'll be best for all 
of us. It esn' weth we poor folks as it es weth the rich," 
added Malva, who to-day seemed unusually despondent ; 
'"we got to lev’ our cheldern go from us 'most so soon as 
their bones es set. Not because we don't want them, or 
ha n t got no love for them, but because we caan’t feed 
them — caan’t ayven give them bread!" And Drusilla, 
watching her furtively, as she pretended to dust the look- 
ing-glass, felt certain that her mother was weeping silently 
to herself. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

A CONSCIENCE AND ITS KEEPER 

Ezekiel s grip on life relaxed noticeably this winter : he 
seemed to lose interest in everything, and wasted away to 
skin and bone. 

All day long the immense field of the sky was covered with 
drifting veils of cloud, and all day long the field of the sea 
(almost as immense when viewed from Polurrian) was covered 
with the "white horses" careering in from the Atlantic. 
The clamorous roar of the wind across the world, the 
growling rumble in the chimney, the whining and whistlino- 
at every crevice, and the deep, hollow booming ' of the 
breakers on the beach, the sound of these filled the cottage 
from daybreak to daybreak again; until at times it almcTst 
seemed to Ezekiel— so loose and tangled was the web of 
consciousness owing to his weakness— that his own turbulent 
thoughts were finding utterance in this way, while the mere 
cloddish body simply listened to the strife. 

Idle as he had never been idle before, except for the well- 
earned rest of the Sabbath, or during a spell of unusually 
tempestuous weather : and prostrate with an illness whose 


A CONSCIENCE AND ITS KEEPER 251 

strange manifestations seemed to his uneducated mind^ with 
its narrow experiences, to be more like the devil-possession ” 
mentioned in the Scriptures than anything he had ever heard 
of as happening to a man : he appeared to lose heart to an 
astonishing degree — making no effort to hold his own in 
anything, but slipping, ever slipping unprotestingly into 
the gulf. 

At times he was like the empty structure of a man from 
which some malignant power had stolen the informing spirit, 
or in which it had as hopelessly dulled the mirror of the souk 
He would sit for hour after hour staring into the fire, neither 
stirring hand or foot or even turning his eyes. And at the 
best of times he would lapse into a lethargic listlessness, a 
stagnant, brooding silence equally pitiable. 

The knowledge that he was now at the mercy of the 
pedlar, preyed on his miind to an extent that no one was 
aware of. His thoughts seemed to have made for them- 
selves a channel of settled melancholy: and the wearying 
gloom of them was more than he could fight against. Up 
to now he had practically been the master of his life, and 
untrammelled (so it seemed to him) by anything or any one. 
But from henceforth this freedom was to be a thing of the 
past. In future, a whip was to be held permanently over 
his head, and at any moment its lash might descend on him 
in the sight of every one. 

He had once heard Morvenna tell a droll ^ of a giant whose 
heart had been stolen out of his body by a conjurer,^ and 
was ever after kept by the conjurer in his waistcoat-pocket : 
so that from that day the giant was at the mercy of the con- 
jurer, who could make him hot or cold, or sad or merry, 
could give him torture unendurable, or pleasure as great 
(had he wished to) without the giant having the power to 
protect himself in any way. And it seemed to Ezekiel, as 
he sat here brooding in the twilight, that something like 
this had befallen himself. The pedlar had him in his power 
to torture as he pleased : and that, in his devilry, he would 


1 Tale. 


2 Witch or wizard. 


252 


EZEKIELS SIN 


exercise the power^ seemed to the crabber to be as certain 
as that he possessed it. 

And Ezekiel, facing the prospect, felt his heart grow as 
heavy as lead. 

He fell to wondering how he could live with this horror 
hanging over him. Practically at any moment (so he ima- 
gined) whenever it might suit the whim or the malice of 
the pedlar, he might be disgraced and ruined for life, might 
be made an outcast among his fellows, and be thrust — he 
faced it shudderingly — into a veritable pit of hell. 

Under the stress of this anguish that wrung his soul so 
bitterly, he often wondered whether his fellow-men (taken 
all together) w^ould be as merciless and cruel towards him as 
the pedlar undoubtedly would be. 

Supposing he should make a clean breast of it to the 
minister — should confess everything to his neighbours in the 
cove, or to the folks of the parish generally — supposing, in 
the last resort, he gave himself up to the police — would the 
humiliation, even then, be as bitter and enduring as the 
humiliation he would have to bear through his bondage to 
the pedlar.? 

He almost doubted it in his heart. But he was afraid to 
put it to the test. 

As a matter of fact (though of this Ezekiel was ignorant) 
the pedlar was as much scared at the thought of moving 
in the matter, as Ezekiel was at the idea that move he 
might and would. Tom’s character was so full of cracks 
and flaws, and the night-side of his life had to be guarded 
with such jealous watchfulness (not only from the eyes 
of any one connected with the police, but equally from the 
eyes of all respectable folks) that not for twice twenty 
pounds would he risk being taken into a police-court on a 
charge such as that Drusilla had hinted at. He loved tor- 
turing a fellow-creature — no one loved the game better — 
but he rated the safety of his own skin infinitely higher; and 
his first thoughts would certainly be given to that, whatever 
other pleasure he might lose as a consequence. 

As far as Ezekiel was now concerned, Tom felt that his 


A CONSCIENCE AND ITS KEEPER 


253 


tongue was tied as well as his hands. But, savage though 
he was at having fallen into the trap, he consoled himself 
with the reflection that not only had he made twelve pounds 
out of the transaction — as he had only given Joe eight pounds 
for the furniture — but he had also bowled over Ezekiel and 
left Drusilla without a husband; by a side-blow he had lessened 
the contents of the miller’s pockets ; and, generally, he had 
made all who had in any way annoyed him recognise that, in 
future, it would be wisest for them not to trifle with him : an 
exercise of power which, to one who was practically half 
an outcast, w^as as meat and drink and fine clothes and 
respect, all in one. 

If Ezekiel had realised the new attitude of the pedlar, the 
knowledge would have been tonic to him, and his health 
might have been re-established. But with the secretive- 
ness of the Celt where the deeper emotions are concerned, 
Ezekiel refrained from any reference to the mental cause of 
his illness ; keeping that aspect of it as carefully out of sight 
as if it were a secret cancer he was ashamed of. 

And Malva, who had never been garrulously inclined — 
having spent her life here among the lonely hills, half the 
time with only the wind and the sea for company — when she 
presently saw that father” was inclined to be so taciturn, 
thought it best to humour him and not to uncover a healing 
wound. Having hinted to him (and that pretty plainly, as 
she thought) how the pedlar stood now in relation to the 
matter, she had taken it for granted that he had understood 
the hint. But being a man — and at the best of times men 
were but crotchety animals — she assumed that he simply did 
not choose to refer to it. 

And it was out of this tangle of faulty interpretation, of 
inadequate speech, and of knowledge equally ineffective, that 
the great gloomy Figure ever at Ezekiel’s elbow (waiting to 
lay hands on him and crush him when the hour was fully 
ripe for it) was weaving the net in whose meshes the crabber 
was now entangled helplessly. 

It was noticeable that the strictly religious sentiments 
played in Ezekiel’s life at present a part strangely insignifi- 


254 


EZEKIELS SIN 


cant. It was evidently the attitude of his mere fellow-men — 
the consciencej the average moral standard of the commu- 
nity — that he was constantly considering and went in such 
fear of. But the old pagan survivals and hybrid superstitions 
that swarm, full of life, in the lower chambers of the House 
Beautiful — where the gods dwell, each with his altar and 
his ministers — these the crabber cowered before almost as 
noticeably. 

At one time he would have the idea that the dead man 
he had robbed was standing outside the cottage in the black, 
stormy night : his face pressed against the window-panes 
while he stared wistfully into the kitchen, and the cold salt- 
water dripping from his garments as he craved dumbly for 
human companionship and the warmth and comfort of the 
hearth. Another time he would fancy that his son drowned 
long ago — and who had never been laid to rest in conse- 
crated ground — was standing outside arm-in-arm with the 
stranger : the pair of dripping figures, with their loose 
flapping garments and their white bony skeletons, rapping 
for admittance all night long. And then, again, he would 
quake and shiver with secret terror at the idea (at times 
amounting to a definite hallucination) that the dead man 
actually stood at his elbow : stood there grey and shadowy, 
and as silent as the grave, but always with his filmy eyes 
watching him intently, and witli his wasted hand held out 
palm upward, as if dumbly inviting him to place something 
in its grasp. 

Or, perhaps, his mood would shift to one subtly self- 
defensive, and he would fall to musing of the secret and 
hidden things of life ; of the concealed trespasses of wives, of 
husbands, of young girls : of murders committed so privately 
that they were never discovered ; of suicides, buried at night 
at the windy cross-roads, tugging hard at the stake that nailed 
them to the coffin, that they might get abroad again to reveal 
some secret they had concealed harmfully ; and of families, 
now prosperous and respected by every one, that were flourish- 
ing on the evil gatherings of wreckers — on the ill-gotten 
gains of men infinitely worse than he was, and who yet, in 


THE TRIUMPH OF THE YOUNG 


255 


spite of all (as he now reminded himself) had died in their 
beds at last as peacefully as if they were saints. 

The chaos of his thoughts was so exhausting in its per- 
plexity, that Ezekiel became at last like a man half-demented; 
falling away, now and then, into strange fits and paroxysms 
which left him eaten up with weakness and physically a 
mere wTCck. 

It was a whisht^ case, every one decided sympathetically. 
And as they discussed it around the hearthsides in the cove 
this winter, more than one decided that the harmless old 
man — for they had already begun to consider him as uncannily 
aged beyond his years — must either be suffering from some 
mysterious judgment (for which no one could see a reason, 
so inoffensive as he was) or else, and more probably, had 
been fatally ill-wished ” and would pine away helplessly till 
he was laid beneath the turf. 


CHAPTER XXXIX 

THE TKIUMPH OF THE YOUNG 

When Malva mentioned to her husband that Morvenna and 
the schoolmaster wanted to be married in the spring (the 
girl, apparently, having set her heart on it) Ezekiel roused 
himself sufficiently to pause and hesitate and object, and 
that to an extent quite unusual with him of late. 

Why, she’ll be havin’ cheldern ’fore she esn much more 
than a cheeld herself!” he remarked, shaking his head 
dissentingly. Give her time to graw up.” 

But this side of the matter had been present to Malva 
from the first, and she took the cheeld’s ” part here and 
indeed all along the line. She recognised clearly the nubile 
unrest with which Morvenna was now tingling, and she 
thought it wisest (for many reasons) to let the girl reach her 


^ Sad or melancholy. 


256 


EZEKIELS SIN 


goal while her heart was thus set on it. She accordingly 
talked father over,’* as she had promised Morvenna she 
would do — and that with a mixture of shrewdness and 
worldly-wisdom which few would have given her credit for — 
and finally succeeded in obtaining his consent. 

Although Morvenna had been secretly building on the 
hope ever since the schoolmaster had first suggested it to 
her, she was full of delight at the knowledge that at last she 
was sure of her happiness, and might even count the days 
to it, if she wished to do so. And count the days she did, 
before she went to bed that night. 

Her mother thought it was merely a sum the girl was 
engaged on so intently : but even a mother (however sym- 
pathetic she may be) at times fails to see everything that 
goes on in a girl’s heart. And Morvenna’s heart was at 
present taking soundings in the sea of life for a voyage which 
promised to be so novel and delightful to her that merely 
to sit here and dream of it was a happiness in itself. 

Malva had broken the news of Joe’s death to Ezekiel in as 
guarded a way as her care for him could suggest. Conceal- 
ing from him the fact that the carter had been murdered, 
she merely told him that Joe’s body had been found in one 
of the Liverpool docks, leading him to infer that it was 
a case of accidental drowning : at which the old crabber 
shook his white head dejectedly ; seeing here, again, in his 
morbid imagination, another attempt of the Sea to avenge 
herself on him until he should be literally humbled into 
the dust. 

As soon as he realised, however, that Drusilla was a widow, 
Ezekiel suggested that she had better ‘‘ sell up ” and come 
home again. I don’t like her livin’ up there by herself : 
lev’ her come home weth we,” he remarked to his wife. 

But Malva so managed (in view of the actual state of 
matters) that Ezekiel not only did not press his suggestion, 
but, instead, found himself presently assenting to the hint 
that they should again let Drusilla have a dip into the tea- 
caddy in order that she might go on without getting into 
debt. 


THE TRIUMPH OF THE YOUNG 


257 


After the first few days, during which it appeared to have 
fretted him considerably, Ezekiel seemed to have let the 
matter slip out of his thoughts. At any rate, he made 
no reference to it in any way. And when Drusilla visited 
the cottage (as she did from time to time) he accepted 
her presence, apparently, on the old matter-of-fact footing, 
without troubling to consider whether she were now wife 
or widow. 

The weeks, however, that crawled along so sluggishly for 
Ezekiel, danced and skipped away for Drusilla with a speed 
that was almost startling. Presently the date fixed for her 
second marriage was so near that it became imperative that 
Ezekiel should hear of her intentions : unless she wished 
to keep them a secret from him until the ceremony was 
over. At one time, she half decided with her mother that 
she would let him hear of the change just when accident 
might reveal it : not beforehand (and deliberately) informing 
him of her intentions. But in the end she felt disgusted 
with this cowardly attitude, seeing that the act was one she 
was in no way ashamed of. So she bade her mother tell 
him openly : and that as soon as she pleased. 

Malva had shirked the unpleasant duty as long as she 
dared ; but at last she felt that she could shirk it no longer : 
seeing that next week Drusilla was to be married. Up to 
the present, no one in the parish knew of the approaching 
wedding, as the miller had agreed with Drusilla that they 
would be married by licence, and so escape the flood of gossip 
which would be released by calling the banns.'’ But next 
week the news would be all over the parish — as the marriage 
was to be solemnised ” at Choone parish church — so Malva 
decided that at last she must break the news to Ezekiel, 
and must trust to Fate to see her safely through whatever 
might ensue. 

To her immense relief, and almost equally to her surprise, 
Ezekiel received the news in the most matter-of-fact way. 

Well, better a wife than a widda, s'pose,” said he : ^^wan cud 
see plain enough Drusilla warn’t cut out for a widda : ” and 
with^that, as far as he was concerned, he let the matter drop. 

R 


258 


EZEKIELS SIN 


In reality, he was so confounded by the demoralisation of 
his life — so bewildered by the ruin that now fronted him 
in every direction — that he no longer had the energy to 
fight against anything. Should they come to his bedside 
one night and tell him the house was burning over him, it 
seemed as likely as not that he would close his eyes passively 
and (accepting it as fate,” and the fulfilment of the '^judg- 
ment” on him) would merely say helplessly, "Well, le* 
me die ! ” 

Few things are sadder than distressful old age. Crippled 
by the combined pressure of ignorance and poverty, stripped 
ruthlessly of the familiar happiness it has been gathering for 
a lifetime, and with even the cloak of its self-respect for- 
lornly in tatters — the while the sands of its hope and the 
daylight of its opportunities are narrowing and lessening at 
every ticking of the clock — how should it be other than 
depressed and very sad } Especially as, to heighten the 
effect of its ruin, all the time there goes on gaily around it 
the triumphal procession of the young to take possession 
of their heritage. A processsion of bright young eyes and 
healthy young cheeks, with their sun not yet mounted to 
its meridian and their year scarcely more than at the fresh 
green of April. But a procession also that behind its flags, 
its banners, and its blare of brasses, has keen cruel weapons 
that can cut and stab effectively : a procession that will not 
hesitate to press its claims ruthlessly, should a fragment of 
its heritage be even momentarily denied to it. 

And on Malva Trevaskis and her sorely-stricken husband, 
thrust aside at every juncture to let the younger ones pass, 
the weight of their doom had now fallen so heavily, that 
to bear up against it was more than they could manage : 
they could merely hang their hands helplessly and wait upon 
Fate. 

Drusilla’s second marriage, as far as the mere ceremony 
went, was commonplace and quiet even to the point of 
tameness. Malva and Morvenna were present as they had 
been at the first wedding — driving to and from the church 
with Drusilla and the miller — but this time Malva "gave 


THE TRIUMPH OF THE YOUNG 


259 


away"’ the bride (though fully aware how farcical was her 
part in the transaction)^ Morvenna, as before, merely wit- 
nessing ” the gift. No one else attended by direct invitation, 
and there was no wedding-supper and no merrymaking of 
any kind. 

None the less, Drusilla and the burly miller seemed in- 
toxicated with the passionate delight of their new relation. 
The fierce glow of their exultation showing itself so plainly 
that it made Morvenna feel uncomfortably eager and restless ; 
and at the same time set Malva contrasting Drusilla’s present 
attitude with that when she had been given as a bride to 
Joe Rosevear. 

^‘^She’ve got the right man at laast, an’ not a day too 
soon,” the grey old mother mused to herself, as she watched 
Drusilla’s shining eyes and her cheeks crimsoning hotly. 

They do sim as delighted as ef they was a couple o’ 
cheldern, fondlin’ an’ kissin’ ovver a new toy. ’Tes a good 
job now’an stood in their way, simminly.” And with that 
Malva fell to thinking of Morvenna and studying her. 

The gossip springing out of Drusilla’s second marriage 
was loud and ill-natured and sufficiently prolonged. But 
Drusilla and the miller simply laughed it to scorn. They 
had each other, and they w^ere so happy in the mutual 
possession that this cackling of the w^omen-folk, old and 
young together, affected them no more than the cackling 
of so many geese. 

Happily, as far as their comfort was concerned, they lived 
remote from any village, or even from a cluster of houses. 
Choone village was a couple of miles from the mill, the 
hamlet in Polurrian cove was more than three miles away, 
and the dwellings that were absolutely the closest neighbours 
to the mill w^ere the cottages in Choone bottoms, distant 
nearly half a mile. Drusilla and the miller therefore could 
be a law to themselves — or could let their passion be a law 
to them, which amounted to much the same thing — without 
having the gossips buzzing around them like flies, and, like 
flies, dropping into their honey and spoiling it. 

Morvenna at present visited the mill but seldom. In her 


26o 


EZEKIELS SIN 


heart, she had never approved of her sister's hasty second 
marriage ; and to her fancy there seemed always to be about 
the mill, and about the attitude of Drusilla and the miller 
to each other, an atmosphere of guilty passion that she 
frankly did not relish. She felt disquieted and uncomfort- 
able whenever she was with them : her thoughts unhealthily 
active, and her blood full of feverish heat. So, in order to 
escape the mental and physical disturbance — which had 
much the same effect on her as if she had come in contact 
with something unclean — Morvenna went to the mill as 
rarely as possible, and made her visit as short as possible 
when she was there. 

But Malva suffered from no such refinement of sentiment. 
Drusilla and the miller were man and wife, and married 
without scandal, and Malva, as far as her strength would 
admit, visited the mill as often as she could : more especially 
in view of Drusilla’s condition, which she decided required 
now the watchful eye of a mother : Drusilla assenting 
obediently, as she would have assented almost to anything, 
so happy was she now in every possible way. 


CHAPTER XL 

HOPES AND REALISATIONS 

Towards the end of February the heavy, trampling rains and 
the blustering winds that had been beating and buffeting the 
peninsula for months, seemed to have spent their force, at 
least for the present ; and the huge hump of granite, thrust 
out so boldly into the stormy waters of the Atlantic, once 
more began to wear a habitable appearance. 

The skylarks sang blithely high above Polurrian, the chaf- 
finches chirped familiarly from the furze-bushes and the 
budding hedgerows, and the daffodils, the jonquils and the 
tiny clusters of violets flowered profusely along the margin 
of the brawling little stream. 


HOPES AND REALISATIONS 


261 


With the reviving world, Ezekiel seemed to revive also. 
His four months’ rest in the sheltered chimney-corner had 
brought back much of his physical strength, and at the same 
time had steadied, quite as notably, his grip on the subtler 
machinery of his life — a grip which, at the end of the year 
just past, had evidently been relaxed almost to the vanishing- 
point. 

But he was still far from being the man he was before his 
collapse, as he was sufficiently aware in only too many ways 
— some of them so obscure as to be known chiefly to him- 
self; but others noticeable enough even to the most casual 
observer. 

Still, the surface improvement was decidedly encouraging, 
and Malva and Morvenna rejoiced at it with a great lighten- 
ing of the heart. 

Father is picking up nicely,” they remarked to one 
another. He’ll make old bones yet — if things go on as 
they’re going now.” 

In order to employ himself, and to feed the steadily- 
growing hope that he might again be able to earn a crust 
of bread,” Ezekiel began presently to look out his crab-pots 
and to busy himself in the task of overhauling and repairing 
them. 

At this Malva and Morvenna were greatly delighted ; from 
a motive as purely untinged by selfishness as if the grey old 
crabber were merely a sick child who was again beginning to 
take an interest in his playthings. 

Only see how pleased he is ! ” they whispered to one 
another. " He’ll soon be all right if he goes on like this ! ” 

Meanwhile Morvenna and the schoolmaster were as busy 
as they could be, completing their preparations for their 
entry into Paradise : which was to take place early in Good- 
Friday week. Easter this year fell late in April, so they 
had still several weeks to spend in that wonderful dreamland 
which happy lovers pass through leaning caressingly against 
each other ; hearing the while a music so infinitely deep and 
tender (even if with a note of voluptuousness running through 
it), that the memory of it will presently sweeten many a day 


262 


EZEKIELS SIN 


for them when the road of life has grown commonplace and 
dusty, and when the fret of it (but for this) would be felt by 
them even to weariness. 

The schoolmaster had been so fortunate as to find a pretty 
little dwelling, somewhat nearer to the school than the 
cottage he was now lodging in, and situated in what, perhaps, 
was the pleasantest nook in the valley. He was to take 
possession of the house at Ladyday, all being well, and he 
intended to live there (furnishing it and generally preparing 
it for his bride) till he could lead her across the threshold 
on that blissful morning which was to link her life to his 
with that exquisite closeness they were so eager for. 

They had arranged that their wedding-night should be 
spent in Penzance, from which, on the following morning, 
they were to proceed to Plymouth, to spend a week in sight- 
seeing and other such enjoyments — of which the delight 
of their new relations would by no means be one of the 
least — finally returning to Polurrian on the Friday after 
Easter, to take up life in the valley on the blissful footing of 
man and wife ! 

Their plans were complete down to the minutest particular, 
and they would talk them over and over literally by the 
hour : finding in this planning and arranging, this anticipating 
and day-dreaming, a happiness as inexhaustible as that they 
found in the caresses with which they sweetened the talks 
that neither of them seemed ever willing to end. 

The third of March was Morvenna's eighteenth birthday, 
and, on this the last birthday she would spend as a maiden, 
she had the schoolmaster down to tea at the little cottage in 
the cove : her parents and her sweetheart between them 
petting her so lovingly that her heart was in a perfect tumult 
of delight. And as she said her prayers that night in the 
quiet of her little bedroom, she had the feeling that surely 
nowhere in the whole wide world was there a girl so abound- 
ingly happy and so fortunate as herself. 

About the middle of March, Drusilla climbed painfully, 
but joyfully withal, to yet another stage in her life as a 
woman. It was a stage for whose outlook she had hungered 


HOPES AND REALISATIONS 


263 


long and often^ and she rejoiced in her attainment to it 
with a triumphant gladness that to her old grey-haired 
mother seemed almost to be girlish. 

There’s no more to knaw now ! ” she remarked to Malva, 
as she cuddled her baby hungrily between her breasts. ^^Tm 
a mother, now, the same as other marr-ried wemmin, mother!” 
And she laughed, for all her weakness, snuggling the baby 
to her warmly. 

Well, I’m glad thee’rt content, me cheeld,” Malva 
replied soothingly. “ All thee got to do now, es to git 
strong and rear her.” 

shall do that all right enough,” Drusilla remarked 
smilingly. And then, from weakness and happiness, she fell 
quietly asleep. 

Morvenna was delighted with the baby, and especially 
pleased that it was a girl. For the next week she was up to 
Drusilla’s nearly every other day, and to be allowed to hold 
the baby was a treat she was always pleading for. The mere 
contact of the little one’s cheeks with her own filled her 
body with strange stirrings — an exquisite disquiet, a warm 
thrilling — that seemed to penetrate deliciously to the most 
secret springs of life. 

“ I shall call her Morvenna, after thee,” Drusilla promised 
her smilingly. “ And next year, when thee git thy 
baby ...” 

Morvenna shook her head dissentingly : her cheeks crim- 
soning hotly. 

‘‘ Iss, iss ! thee’ll have wan next year, right enough ! I 
knaw it by thy eyes,” remarked Drusilla teasingly ; evidently 
enjoying Morvenna’s embarrassment. “ Mind ! ef ’tes a girl, 
I shall expect ’ee to call her after me.” 

Well, I will ... if I have a little girl,” replied Morvenna, 
her voice sinking down almost to a whisper. 

^‘^Well, see that it es a girl, so that thee can keep thy 
promise.” And Drusilla lay back, smiling to herself. 

Drusilla’s baby slipped so often now into Morvenna’s talks 
with the schoolmaster, that at last he asked her amusedly, 
“ Is it such a wonderful baby, then } ” 


264 


EZEKIELS SIN 


•^No . . . but it’s a hahy !” answered Morvenna^ blushing 
rosily ; all the woman, and all the latent motherhood in her 
nature, being summed up in this, as she was sufficiently 
aware. 

And the schoolmaster, recognising it also, let the subject 
drop. 


CHAPTER XLI 

THE RETURN OF THE SWALLOWS 

The swallows had returned, one could see them darting 
about everywhere ; the larks sang almost from sunrise to 
sunset ; and the cuckoos, from their secret haunts in the 
green depths of the valleys, sounded that delicious note of 
enchantment which they surely must have learned from the 
wise, ancient gods — so full is it of the beauty and mysteiy of 
a world as yet in its prime. 

The hawthorn had begun to flower ; the bees and butter- 
flies were again abroad ; on every hillside and patch of 
common the gorse was goldenly abundant ; and the fruit- 
trees were blossoming everywhere, as delicately draped as if 
they were brides. 

It was spring — it was April — it was an ideal day for a 
wedding. And it was Morvenna’s marriage morning — the 
day of days in her life ! 

In another hour she was to be a bride — and a bride at 
eighteen ! The girl’s heart leaped with happiness — her 
cheeks flamed with delicious colour — she panted softly — her 
lips trembled — she was almost dazed with exquisite joy. 

Malva and Drusilla together dressed her lovingly for the 
wedding, the girl trembling and thrilling restlessly as they 
fitted the bridal gown to her, so alive was she in every fibre 
and so full of ashamed delight ; and then they let her hold 
the baby and kiss and caress it hungrily : Morvenna putting 
its tiny hands again and again to her parted lips, and pressing 
its little face to her burning cheeks passionately. 


THE RETURN OF THE SWALLOWS 265 


The schoolmaster had ordered a carriage from Penzance 
for the bride, and Ezekiel (though shaking noticeably from 
the unusual excitement, and with the old catch” in his 
speech persistently asserting itself) kept the promise he had 
made to Morvenna a week or two previously and drove up 
to Choone with Malva and his daughters. And presently, 
in the quaint little granite church, in the presence of the 
few neighbours who had gathered to see the ceremony, 
he ^^gave away” Morvenna to the man she had chosen, 
and to whom she now surrendered herself with a gladness 
that was unmistakable. 

About a couple of hours later (as she was driving away 
from her father’s cottage with her husband’s arm around her 
waist) Morvenna leaned from the carriage window to wave 
her handkerchief to her parents, and saw Ezekiel and Malva, 
and Drusilla holding up the baby, standing together at the 
end of the row to watch the carriage out of sight, half-a- 
dozen of the neighbours being clustered in the rear. 

As she w'aved and fluttered her handkerchief, they caught 
the signal delightedly, one and all waving their hands in 
return ; the neighbours even sending up something like a 
cheer. And Morvenna’s eyes dimmed with tears in spite of 
her great happiness. 

That chapter of her life — her girlhood, and all it meant 
for her — was at last ended for her as irrevocably as the 
homely life of the cottage had ended for her brothers on the 
day that they were drowned. And as she felt the sharp 
pang of this final separation, she clung to her husband with a 
sudden terror at the unknown and the unfamiliar ; whispering 
to him, almost tremulously, ^^You will be good to me, dear, 
won’t you ? I have no one, now, but you ! ” 


266 


EZEKIELS SIN 


CHAPTER XLII 

WATCHING AND WAITING 

When Morvenna and her husband returned from their honey- 
moon, Morvenna had steadied into the young wife reasonably 
well. With the wedding-ring on her finger, and the deepened 
knowledge in her eyes, she took her place in her new home 
with a blending of the girl and of the wife that was as 
delightful as it was winsome and irresistibly piquant. And 
the schoolmaster almost worshipped his shy girl-wife, with 
her happy eyes and her vivid blushes and her pretty coaxing 
ways : treating her, in fact, more like a sweetheart than a 
husband ; as her mother and sister were aware far more 
clearly than herself. 

Malva was thankful, with a deep, unspoken gratitude, that 
the girl was so profoundly happy in her new position : and 
Drusilla — though she saw here a love deeper than her own 
experiences — was in no way envious, but rejoiced at it 
ungrudgingly. 

Morvenna made her parents come up to her house to tea, 
as often as she could get them there, by stratagem or other- 
wise. And Ezekiel more than once reiterated his gladness 
that he had let the little wan marry when she did. 

wedn’ have spoiled such happiness as the cheeld do 
sim to be havin’, for a new boat fitted out complayte from 
stem to starn ! ” he assured Malva earnestly, after one of 
these tea-drinkings. Why, the cheeld es as happy as the 
day es long, b’leeve ! The queen on her throne cudn’ be no 
happier, I shud say.” 

^^God bless her, an’ she do desarve it!” replied Malva 
sympathetically. 

Ay . . . God bless her ! ” repeated Ezekiel slowly : and 
then fell a-m using, remembering the burden on his back. 

The pedlar had been quiet, now, for nearly six months ; 
but Ezekiel dared not hope that his enemy had forgotten 


WATCHING AND WAITING 


267 


him. Every morning he got up aching with the dread that 
during the day the pedlar might appear ; and every night 
when he went to bed he thought to himself drearily, ^^An- 
awther day ovver ! but to-morra he may be cornin’ ! Ef I cud 
onnly die off durin’ the night ! ” 

In spite of the strain that was exhausting the very tap-root 
of his life, Ezekiel made an effort to resume crabbing this 
spring, and managed, with the assistance of young Dick Laity 
(who gave his services gratuitously : it being for “ Morveimas 
father ”) to put down rather more than half of his pots. But 
instead of now being able, as he had been in the past, to chose 
the stations that the experience of a lifetime had taught him 
wxre the best, Ezekiel had to be content with choosing such 
positions as he could reach without subjecting himself to too 
great a strain. And at tli^ same time, even in fishing for 
bait, he was unable to go to a distance that might prove 
unduly tiring, lest the wind should rise suddenly on an 
incoming tide, and the heavy seas — that here increase almost 
without warning — should make the handling of the boat 
more difficult than he could manage. As a consequence, 
he rarely went far from the shore, and at no time ventured 
entirely out of sight of it. The strange, prostrating attacks 
that had so often overtaken him, had entirely destroyed his 
nerve and the very marrow of his manhood : and had left 
him, so to speak, honeycombed with a distrust of himself that 
was incurable. He was now frankly afraid to find himself 
out of sight of land, dreading (he knew not what) mysterious 
visitations : and equally in fear of the ancient Sea and the 
implacable enmity he divined in her. 

His life, from henceforth, was to be that of a haunter of 
the shore-line. No more was he to sail out on the long 
Atlantic rollers, till the stony, wind-beaten hills and the 
sheltered little coves should all become invisible for him, and 
the grey line of the sea should be everywhere his horizon. 
No more, sailing far beyond the wild outer skerries, find 
himself with only the waves and the wandering sea-birds and 
the homeless wind for his companions, and feel, the while, 
as much at home as if he were in the kitchen with his wife. 


268 


EZEKIELS SIN 


The life on the sea^ as he had known it best and loved it 
most heartily, was over for him once for all — was ended, now, 
irrevocably. In future, his life must be little more active 
than that of a limpet : the tide feeding him, and the flavour 
of the salt water running through him, but the romance and 
mystery of the sea cut off from him for ever ! 

And the old crabber, in his weakness and his pathetic 
isolation, as he looked out towards the open water, which he 
was now no more to venture on, often found his heart swell- 
ing and his eyes dimming mistily : feeling that, at his age, 
to have failed" and broken down in this way, was the 
sorest judgment on him that even an enemy could have 
devised. 

All this time, the pedlar, quiet though he had kept, had by 
no means forgotten Ezekiel and the secret hoard in his 
possession. But Tom had decided that, if anything more 
were to be got out of the crabber, he must be cornered when 
he had none of his women-folk about him. Away from the 
defences, as well as the defenders, in his cottage, he might 
perhaps be found again as weakly impressible as he was on 
that memorable Saturday morning which the pedlar never 
thought of without a sense of secret relish that made him 
chuckle to himself and slap his thighs delightedly. 

During the winter, Tom had taken his van to Penzance, 
where he peddled his wares among the poorer workers and 
the outlying householders; lying snug in his van when the 
weather was at its worst, and at such times nibbling care- 
fully into his private hoard. 

The haunt he had chosen for himself was in the oldest 
and most crowded quarter of what is known as the ^^old" 
quay : not a stone’s throw from the ancient headland to 
which the town owes its name.^ The knot of courts and 
squares and grimy alleys — with its population almost dense 
enough for a human piggery — exactly suited Tom’s tastes 

^ Penzance = Pen sans ; the holy headland. A tiny chapel, dedi- 
cated to St. Anthony, stood on this windy headland for centuries. A 
mutilated image, the sole remaining relic of the little chapel, is still 
preserved carefully in St. Mary’s churchyard. 


WATCHING AND WAITING 


269 


and requirements : and here, during the winter, he had 
enjoyed himself stealthily among the tramps and cadgers and 
other shady characters, and had revelled in the hoggish 
pleasures which the neighbourhood offered so freely. 

Owing to his cleverness with the fiddle, the pedlar was 
always considered a welcome addition to the company in any 
of the noisy taverns that clustered around the harbour. And 
night after night he sat and fiddled in one or the other of the 
reeking little tap-rooms, enjoying his position as a favourite 
among the haunters of the water-side, and enjoying even 
more the sense of something not unlike power, which to a 
certain extent grew out of his popular appreciation. The 
change from the bleak loneliness of his life on the moors, 
and his position as a kind of companionless outcast, to 
the warm habitable atmosphere here in the taverns, and 
the noisy camaraderie of the sailors and their parasites, was 
one the pedlar enjoyed thoroughly and made the most of 
while he had the chance. 

But when the winter broke up, and the difficulty of travel- 
ling on the open roads and in the narrow country lanes was 
once more reduced to manageable proportions, Tom drifted 
out of Penzance as quietly as he had entered it. 

Rejoiced to be again on the windy highway, he took his 
way to Choone with his van gaudily re-painted and his stock 
not only replenished but increased ; and with his mind set 
doggedly on the intention to force again from Ezekiel an- 
other handful of the sovereigns he so persistently hankered 
after. 

For many weeks Tom stealthily kept his eye on Ezekiel’s 
life : but he found matters so unpropitious for the purpose 
he had in his mind, that he almost despaired of ever being 
able to compass it. 

Practically, in the cottage Ezekiel was never left alone: 
either Malva or Morvenna always being with him. And 
as he rarely, in those days, went farther than the ridge of 
shingle, he was never out of sight of the eyes watching him 
from the cottage, and was consequently unattackable, by 
stratagem or otherwise. 


270 


EZEKIELS SIN 


When Ezekiel began to resume his crabbing expeditions, 
the pedlar hoped that, at last, his chance had arrived. 

But for the first few weeks after the pots were down, 
Ezekiel rarely strayed a yard from a certain fixed track. He 
went to and from his pots, and he fished here and there for 
bait, keeping always within a radius of about a mile and a 
half from Polurrian, and, immediately he came ashore, he 
went straight to his cottage, without lingering on the beach 
even for half-an-hour. 

If he wished to rest on the sea-front, as he used to do 
of old, Malva brought out a chair for him in front of the 
cottage, and here he would sit motionless often for hours : 
watching the sea and the distant boats, and letting the 
sunshine soak into him : with scarcely any other sign that it 
was a living man sitting there except the slow, intermittent 
puffing at his pipe. 

The crabber’s sluggish, sheltered existence exasperated 
Tom to an intolerable degree. How to get at him, while 
he was like this, was a question that puzzled Tom greatly. 
But get at him he would, on this he was determined. 


CHAPTER XLIII 

STORM 

Towards the middle of June, and nearly six weeks after 
he had resumed his crabbing, Ezekiel began to move about 
a little more freely. 

He once even walked as far as Drusilla’s — resting at 
Morvenna’s on the way, and driving back in the miller’s 
trap — and though this had exhausted him for the whole of 
the following day, he was still so pleased with the notable 
achievement that the new heart it put in him seemed well 
worth the strain. 

When Morvenna had been a wife about a couple of months, 
she began to ail a little; as Malva was quick to discover. 
The girl was growing a mother at the roots of her heart, as 


STORM 


271 


she was aware with a tremulous happiness that Malva clearly 
understood. And now her husband and her parents were 
always hanging around her affectionately_, making as much of 
her as if she were a delicate bit of china which the slightest 
rough handling would injure irreparably. 

Racking his brain for means of giving her pleasure, Ezekiel 
one Saturday made up his mind that he would go to Newlyn 
and buy for her a pretty stuffed bird that was displayed in 
one of the shop-windows there, and which he knew was for 
sale at a reasonable figure. He had more than once seen 
Morvenna stop to admire the bird — it was a -yv'eH-preserved 
specimen of the golden oriole — and he felt sure that she 
would be delighted to have it for her ow'n, to set up in the 
little parlour in which she took such pride. 

He accordingly set off along the cliff-path to Newlyn (as 
this would shorten the route by quite a mile and a half) and 
on arriving at the quaint, busy little fishing-town, he found 
the dusty case still in the window and was able to purchase 
it at the price he had decided on — Drusilla having ^^gone 
shares ” with him in making up the money. 

Tying up the case in his red cotton handkerchief, for 
convenience in carrying as well as to screen it from the sun, 
he strolled to the cliff,*’ for a few minutes’ gossip— as at 
this point, immediately overlooking the harbour, the fisher- 
men congregate on a Saturday afternoon almost as thickly 
as bees when they are swarming. 

The talk on the cliff-top to-day was almost entirely about 
the revival ” that had recently started in Penzance and 
which within the last week had extended to Newlyn : and 
Ezekiel listened to it with the most absorbing interest. 

A wonderful young man, of strange personal magnetism, 
had been preaching up and down in the scattered towns of 
Cornwall, and lately — about ten days ago — he had reached 
Penzance, where his success among the townsfolk had been 
little short of marvellous. 

Although the central and most stimulating figure of the 
revival had not yet preached outside the towns, men lifted 
to a new level by the stir and heat of the movement had 


272 


EZEKIELS SIN 


risen up around him, like sons born of him spiritually, and 
had been preaching in the villages in every direction. One 
of the most acceptable of the purely local evangelists was the 
Reverend Alfred Naesmith, a consumptive young Londoner, 
whose face and figure were familiar to all the fisher-folk of the 
district, as he had been living at Newlyn, for the sake of his 
health, for the last eighteen months. Feeling his life passing 
away with depressing fniitlessness, Mr. Naesmith had begun, 
of late, to count the sands, that now were so ruthlessly falling 
in the hour-glass, almost as if they were grains of gold. He 
had been awakened to a new sense of the value and uses of 
a personality by the wide fruitfulness of the evangelist who 
was rousing Penzance, and, under the stimulus of the latter’s 
impressive grip and inspiration, Mr. Naesmith had recently 
resumed his efforts in the ministry, though only on the 
footing of an auxiliary local preacher. 

When Ezekiel had edged his way among the gossips on 
the cliff-top, till he had secured a convenient resting-place 
against the iron railing, he had found the air not only full 
of echoes of the deep and widespread revival in Penzance, 
but full also of vivid personal reminiscences of the more 
recent scenes and incidents in Newlyn, where, a few days 
previously, a memorable height of enthusiasm had been 
reached under the fervent and impassioned preaching of 
young Mr. Naesmith. 

To-morrow Mr. Naesmith was to preach at Choone, and, 
according to the hum and buzz of gossip, so many were 
arranging to go up there to hear him that the tiny granite 
chapel of which Choone boasted would probably not hold 
half the crowd. It was therefore considered likely that he 
would preach in the open air : and it was also rumoured 
that the Choone folk were preparing for such a contin- 
gency, and on that day would practically throw open their 
cottages and would accommodate strangers as well as ac- 
quaintances with a kind of feasten-tide hospitality. Many 
of the fisher-folk from Newlyn were going to take their 
dinners with them — as for some of these it would mean a 
tramp of nearly half-a-dozen miles — and others were making 


STORM 


273 


arrangements to drive there in waggons, or even in the 
rickety fish-jowsters’ carts, which for this occasion were 
being placed freely at their service. Altogether it seemed 
likely that the gathering would be a notable one, and 
that it would be spiritually memorable as well — seeing 
how the stir and excitement of anticipation were already 
subtly sensitising the minds of so many, and quicken- 
ing them into a mood of such emotional receptivity that 
anything, or everything, might be possible under the 
circumstances. 

ril go up to hear un to-morra, ef I’m spared,” decided 
Ezekiel ; who had recently got into the habit of talking to 
himself. ^‘The saints of owld cud cast out devils, so they 
do say, an’ p’raps, ef this es possible, he’ll cast out mine ; 
an’ give me back me paice o’ mind agen,” he sighed, drearily. 

Iss ! ef Tm spared, I’ll go up an hear un / — The man’s ’most 
a saint already : he got power weth God, surely. I must 
hear what he got to say : he may have a word for 7ne . — 
Iss,” he muttered persistently, I sim to feel somehow 
that he’ve got a message for me. I caan’t rest ’tell I do 
hear it — ’tes playin’ on me mind so ! ” 

Meanwhile, everywhere around Ezekiel, on the swarming 
cliff- top, religious experiences were being narrated with a 
dramatic vivacity that was almost startling, or were being 
discussed with a feverish restlessness as contagious as an 
epidemic. 

The air was full of stories of remarkable "convictions of sin,” 
and of men struck down by the arrow of " the Word ” while 
in the act of denying and even defying its power. Tales of 
freeing from spiritual deadness, or from the bondage of Satan, 
in some cases attained after hours of agonised " seeking,” and 
in other cases gained as a runner makes a leap. Excited 
and fervidly emotional accounts of the transition from a sense 
of spiritual guiltiness to one of exquisite rejoicing in the 
"light and liberty” of "conversion.” And strange tales of 
men who„ from a sense of terror at God’s existence, had been 
brought to a deep gratitude and tenderness of heart at the 
mere idea that they lay helpless in the hollow of His hand. 

s 


274 


EZEKIELS SIN 


The little town was as full of echoes of these experiences 
as, when pilchards are on the coast, the air is populous with 
sea-birds and in every direction seems to be alive with 
their cries. 

Ezekiel had followed up, with the most intense interest, 
more than one of the stranger cases of conversion — not 
the mere change of poise in an unripe boy, or in a hunger- 
smitten girl with half her nature undeveloped — but the new 
shifting of the helm in grown men and women : worn, iron- 
grey seniors who had been matured by many experiences 
and who had learned to trust themselves, expecting help 
from no one else : and the effect had been to disquiet him 
profoundly. He seemed to realise, with a new gravity and 
poignancy, that here were ageing folks like himself — fathers 
of families, grey-haired mothers, grandfathers and grand- 
mothers — who could yet, in response to a profound spiritual 
impulse, cast the slough of their old lives irrevocably (so 
it seemed to him), and experience, in all its freedom, the 
joy of the ^^new birth.” 

He began to ache, with a deep and anguishing pang, at 
the thought of his own spiritual isolation ; at the sin that 
cleaved close to him, and at the slime that nothing might 
wash away. 

Nothing ? He felt a sense almost of feverish exaspera- 
tion. He would be cleansed ! If others could be cleansed, 
he would be cleansed too ! 

And to this mood he held doggedly — it gripped him as 
morbidly as a fixed idea ” — voicing it to himself with almost 
wearying iteration. 

Presently some children gathered on the cliff-top and 
began to play at revivals ” in imitation of their elders. A 
little boy of eight stood up as the preacher, his tiny sister 
kneeling before him with her face in her hands, while the 
other children, standing around them in a circle, sang frag- 
ments of hymns at the top of their little voices, the shrill 
babble of sounds delighting them hugely. 

Ezekiel felt hopelessly depressed and heavy-hea!rted. He 
stared around him for a little while, as if bewildered and 


STORM 275 

half dazed, and then, sighing heavily, hung his head and 
slouched homewards like a man with feet of lead. 

The sun was westering fast, though still a long way from 
setting, when Ezekiel turned his back on the narrow streets 
of Newlyn, with the present for little Morvenna'* tucked 
safely under his arm. As he trudged along the cliff-path 
from here to Polurrian — the road dipping and rising and 
changing its character frequently ; now contracted between 
the banks of a cutting, near Mousehole, and presently almost 
indistinguishable on the face of the open moor — he found the 
finches and linnets had crept in among the furze-clumps and 
cowered there cheeping” faintly at intervals; the swallows 
wheeling to and fro in the shadowed hollows, almost as low 
and as close to him as bats ; while higher up the swifts were 
careering to and fro restlessly, screaming shrilly at intervals 
as if a storm were coming up. 

The wind began to moan drearily across the slopes, and 
the clouds swept raggedly, though in vast battalions, across 
the huge wan dome under whose hollow he trudged so 
heavily — trudged with no other companion than his own 
sombre thoughts. 

The crabber was used to the loneliness of wide, open 
spaces, of the great treeless hills haunted eerily by the wind, 
and of the treacherous world of waters — so solitary and so 
immense. But the sense of isolation that weighed on him 
this evening appeared to be peculiarly disquieting to his 
nerves. He seemed to be shaken with the dumb, vague 
terrors of an outcast who is aware that blind old Fate is at 
his heels. 

He grew hot and cold by turns at the subtle unknitting 
of his strength, till he felt like one trembling at the 
crumbling edge of a pit. 

Suddenly, from among the fern-clumps, the boulders of 
granite and the furze-bushes, a figure started up and hailed 
him hoarsely. 

For a second or two, Ezekiel stood like one stricken with 
catalepsy : his legs seemed to have turned to wood, and his 
hands were as lumps of lead. 


276 


EZEKIELS SIN 


And then the deep bass voice again shouted to him 
gruffly : Thee’rt the man I want to see ! Gi’s thy haand, 
owld friend ! ” And a black hand thrust itself suddenly 
before him : the long, thin fingers sticking out like claws. 

Thought for the minute thee wert the Devil!” Ezekiel 
managed to articulate ; staring at Tom with intent and 
fascinated curiosity. 

“ I ben chasin’ sauls, anyhow : an’ here’s wan I’ve caught/’ 
said Tom the Hangman, holding up something. 

Ezekiel stared at the something ” fearfully : half imagin- 
ing it might be an infant. 

It was only a dead hare, with its head hanging from Tom’s 
fist ; and Ezekiel, now recognising that his old enemy was 
out poaching, recovered his nerve somewhat, sorely shaken 
though he was. 

^^I was thinkin’ o* cornin’ down to see’ee,” said Tom 
the Hangman. ^^We can talk a bit now, as owld friends 
shud ; an’ I’ll walk home weth’ee, for the pleasure o’ thy 
company.” 

Ezekiel eyed him apprehensively, but with a dreary feel- 
ing that to be thus haunted was a part of his "judgment.” 
It reminded him of a horrible tale he had once heard in a 
sermon : the preacher telling of live men who, for a punish- 
ment for something, were fastened hand and foot, and face 
to face, to dead bodies, and had to endure the torture 
until they died themselves. "Deliver me from this body 
of death ! ” one of them had cried in agony ; as Ezekiel 
now remembered while he ached and quivered with nausea. 
And " Deliver me from this body of death ! ” Ezekiel en- 
treated now. 

"Ay, you,” said Tom, limping along beside him, "I feel 
there must be watchers who keep a’ eye on us all’ys, an’ 
see that owld friends do meet when ’tes necessary. Owld 
Nick,” he touched his forehead, as if to a superior, " Owld 
Nick, as well as the Awther, do keep a’ eye on’ es awn, so 
as to manage thaise little matters for us, b’leeve. Don’t’ee 
think so, owld friend asked Tom, peering up at him, 
" I all’ys like to hear thy opinion on a point.” 


STORM 


277 


" My opinion es — I wish the Devil wed take thee ! ” 

^'No doubt, no doubt. Very kind of ee. I’m sure. But 
thee see, owld friend. He still got work for me. I’m His 
pig-driver, ef thee wust ; I keep together the drove for’n. 
When the ovven-doors es oppen. He don’t like to miss wan. 
In they go — black an’ white, big pigs an’ little wans — owld 
or young, in they go : an’ every wan counts.” 

Ezekiel shivered from head to foot, and was conscious 
of his every joint: not a single limb working without a dull, 
aching pain. 

^^It must be a change for a dead man to git in by the 
Devil’s chimney-corner,” mused Tom, as if unconscious of 
a listener ; and then he added, with a sudden brightening, 
turning to Ezekiel, “ It must take the chill out of his bones 
for’n — eh } Cowld as ice they do feel, don’t they, when thee 
lift them out o’ the say } ” 

Ezekiel trembled visibly, and his face went as white as 
a sheet. 

But ’tes the gowld tha’s warm all’ys : as warm as when 
it was minted ! A man do forgit how dead flesh do feel, 
when he do git the gowlden suvrins in his fingers : don’t’a, 
you } ” 

My God ! ef ’twasn’ murder, I’d squeeze the life out o* 
thy carkiss ! ” cried Ezekiel — a sudden leap of passion in 
his heart. 

‘‘ No doubt ; but Hes murder. An’ ef I shud happen to 
be raissin’ at any time, we’re such owld friends, they’d 
be sure to pitch on thee.” He changed his tone, suddenly, 
to one of mere contemf)t. " I shud ha’ thought wan ghost, 
man, was enough to hunt’ee.^ What cud’ee do weth two — 
wan on ayther side ? And hunt’ee I shud, surely, ’tell the 
rope was round thy neck ! ” 

Ezekiel glanced at him, with a strange expression, but 
made no reply. And a somewhat lengthy silence ensued. 

The immense dome of the sky, owing to the heavy clouds 
massing across it — huge, sprawling blotches of almost funereal 


Haunt thee. 


278 


EZEKIELS SIN 


blackness — seemed gradually to be narrowing and darkening 
into a vault. And the moan of the wind was almost lugu- 
brious enough for the moaning of souls in torment : lamenta- 
tions floating up from an underworld of pain. Even the 
deep, glowing crack in the clouds in the west, where the 
molten fire seemed to gush through redly, only heightened 
the portentous and almost terrifying effect. 

The unseen swifts* screamed uncannily at intervals ; but 
the homelier swallows were no longer visible : and the finches 
and linnets, and the other liaunters of the moorland, were 
all, now, silent and huddled out of sight. 

The storm that was sweeping up from the open spaces of 
the Atlantic, appeared to be heavily charged with electricity ; 
and the cloudy forerunners of it already had awed the world 
and dusked it warningly. 

The crabber walked on wearily and shakily, his eyes fixed 
and staring straight ahead of him, the swelling of his heart and 
the leaping of his pulse taking the place of articulate thought : 
while the pedlar limped along just abreast of him, watching 
Ezekiel closely out of the corners of his eyes. 

There was an evil scowl on the pedlar’s countenance as he 
dragged his lame foot heavily across the tussocks, and between 
his parted lips his teeth showed plainly, not unlike those of a 
snarling dog. Presently he growled hoarsely, and almost pant- 
ingly, ^^Sira to me, owld friend, thee’rt tired o’ me company.” 

“ Thee never spok’ a truer word in thy life ! ” 

And just then, from somewhere out of the gloom of the 
approaching storm, a low rumble, as of distant thunder, 
became audible. 

'^There’s a storm cornin’ up,” said the pedlar, sniffing 
the air. 

“ Lev’ it come,” said Ezekiel. 

And the thunder growled again. 

Iss, tha’s a warnin’ to me weth my rheumatics. I must 
git onder shelter ’fore it do break. I’m an owld man ...” 
said Tom, and peered up in the crabber’s face. 

Ezekiel slackened his pace to listen : waiting he hardly 
knew for what. 


STORM 


279 


I’m an owld man, an’ this here followin’ of’ee es tirin’ 
me. B’leeve I must give it up, you — b’leeve I must give 
it up.” 

Ezekiel drew his breath with laboured heaviness : waiting 
eagerly what the ugly little creature had to say. 

I ben thinkin’ it ovver while I ben tailin’ along behind’ee, 
an’ I’ve come to the conclusion that it’ll be best for us to 
part.” 

A thin streak of lightning jagged across the sky, and the 
thunder boomed heavily, as if close behind the hills. Ezekiel 
stared at the hairy little creature beside him, and was 
fascinated by the odd expression of his face. His teeth 
showed plainly through his ragged grey moustache, and there 
was a strange mocking glee in his little beady eyes. 

This saycret o’ thine, weth thee so surly to me, do give 
too much trouble to an owld man like me.” 

He paused, as if expecting that Ezekiel would say some- 
thing. 

But the crabber, staring hard at him, remained as dumb 
as a stone. 

“ Ef thee gi’ me twenty pounds, I cud forgit all 
about it.” 

Ezekiel held his peace : clutching hard at Morvenna’s 
present, and gnawing his moustache restlessly. 

" But . . . ef thee waan’t . . . I’m thinkin’ o* sellin’ it,” 
said Tom. 

Ezekiel started visibly. What ! ” he cried hoarsely : 

Sellin’ it ? To who ” 

" I ben lookin’ round — thinkin’ a bra’ bit about it. It 
wed be wuth money to a man less friendly to’ee than 
I am.” 

Again he paused expectantly. 

But again there was no response. 

" I ben lookin’ round for a long time for somewan to sell 
it to : somewan who do knaw’ee ...” 

The lightning flashed out vividly — a long, jagged streak 
darting across the sky — and then a heavy peal of thunder 
crashed and rattled among the hills. 


280 


EZEKIEL S SIN 


But the two men stared at each other through it all. 
Ezekiel watching Tom the Hangman with close and fasci- 
nated curiosity ; and the latter studying the crabber with his 
ferrety little eyes. 

Sellin* it to somewan who do knaw’ee/’ Tom repeated. 

Ezekiel clenched his fist and set his teeth hard together. 
His heart stood still ; he had to open his lips to breathe. 

^^Mester Richards, the schoolmaster, I do mayne,’' said 
Tom the Hangman. 

Ezekiel turned on him with a sudden movement as if he 
would seize him by the throat. 

Up flashed Tom’s hand with a hedger's knife in it. " Bein* 
a lonely owld man, I do carr-ry this — see ! Wan do need 
it sometimes, poachin’ a bit at night,” he added, with his 
eyes fixed watchfully on the crabber. 

Ezekiel’s hand fell limply by his side. 

By the way, come to think of it, ’tes thy li’l maid he ben 
an’ marr-ried, esn’ it } Why, iss, o’ coorse ; so ’tes, too ! 
That was a cureyus thought o’ mine, so pat now, warn’t it } 
He’ll be onder thy thumb, like : a’ eddicated son-in-law. 
Ef he don’t git thee onder his, that es. Surely” (as if a 
sudden thought had struck him), but no ! he’d never be 
mayne enough to do it ! ” And he glanced at Ezekiel, as 
if questioning him, with a troubled anxiety in his eyes. 

Surely he wedn’ be mayne enough to thraw the li’l 
maid ovver, ayven ef he ded feel ashamed of her faather ! 
Do’ee think he wed.^” he asked, with well-simulated 
concern. 

Ezekiel stood fronting him, on the windy cliff-top, with his 
teeth clenched tightly — even tighter than his fists. 

*^Well, ’tes he I shall offer it to, anyhow,” said Tom, 

onless thee gi’ me anawther twenty pounds. When he got 
it, thee must make the best bargain thee can weth un. An’“ e 
thee caan’t make any, an’ he do cast off the li’l maid for it — > 
remember ! thee ded it all for the sake o’ twenty pounds ! ” 

The words were scarcely uttered, before a tremendous peal 
of thunder crashed and rattled overhead with a clamour 
almost deafening : the lightning playing across the cliff-top 


STORM 


281 


with a blinding glare that seemed to daze, as well as to 
dazzle, the bewildered crabber, who was just about to open 
his lips to consent. 

Ezekiel instinctively clapped his hand over his eyes, and 
at the same time started to run, almost unthinkingly : his 
nerves completely unstrung by the appalling uproar, coming 
so sharply on the wrenching torture to which the pedlar had 
been subjecting him. 

Again the lightning blazed with an intolerable fierceness — 
running dowm from the clouds in long, jagged streaks — and 
the thunder boomed and roared with a tumult that was 
indescribable : volley after volley crashing and rattling 
among the hills till the thrust and the deafening roar seemed 
to be everywhere and simultaneous. 

It seemed only for an instant that Ezekiel had shielded 
his face and staggered on blindly : but when he again 
uncovered his eyes, and stared dazedly around him, he was 
startled to find that the pedlar had disappeared. 

As a matter of fact, Ezekiel had stumbled on, with his 
eyes covered, a good many yards from the spot where he had 
been standing when the thunder had bellowed so threaten- 
ingly close to him. He had continued running automatically, 
when once he had started, and his confused idea that the 
pedlar would be still at his elbow was merely due to the 
general bewilderment of his thoughts. 

He was now thoroughly scared, and shook as if with the 
palsy; an uncanny awe striking blindly through his brain. 

Tom the Hangman ... or the Devil . . . which had it 
actually been ! ’’ 

Ezekiel took to his heels in terror — a feeble, grey old man, 
though he was — and ran and stumbled and recovered himself 
shakily, and struggled on again, panting loudly and heavily ; 
a prey the while to a panic fear that spilled his strength like 
water, and left him almost as witless as a child. 

But, through it all, he clung instinctively to the present 
for ^Hittle Morvenna,” for which he would have fought 
almost as hungrily as for his life. 

When he finally staggered up to the door of his cottage — 


282 


EZEKIELS SIN 


his limbs trembling under him, and bis face looking ghastly 
in its drawn, haggard whiteness — Malva, who was there 
watching for him, gave a cry of consternation. 

Why, faather, wha’s the matter weth’ee ! she cried, 
shaking from head to foot. Aw, dear ! whatever have 
happened ! Thee look as ef thee got thy death-stroke ! 

“ Onnly . . . wish ... had ! ” Ezekiel managed to articu- 
late. 


CHAPTER XLIV 

THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS 

I wedn’ go up to Choone to-day, faather, ef I was thee ; 
thee arn’t fit for it, Tm sure,” said Malva on the Sunday. 

I’m goin’,” said Ezekiel, in his dull, lifeless way. 

Malva watched him uneasily. She had noted during the 
morning the strange, flickering fire that seemed to glitter 
in his eyes, and then vanish as swiftly and unaccountably as 
it arose — to be followed by an air of far-away abstraction, 
when he would stare here and there fixedly (but, for all that, 
unseeingly) as if his thoughts were groping blindly in un- 
familiar paths — and her heart was full of forebodings as 
inexplicable as they were vague. 

While I’m away,” said Ezekiel presently, ^^thee can take 
up that theer bird to Morvenna. Ef I drop in to see her, 
it’ll be after I come back.” 

She shall have it,” replied Malva. An’ bra’ an’ proud 
she’ll be of it, too, bless her heart ! ” she added, as if hoping 
to deflect his thoughts in this way. 

Ezekiel made no remark. Presently he went out on the 
doorstep to brush his hat. But, instead of brushing it, he 
stood on the step with the hat and brush in his hand, and 
fell to gazing across the sea with a long and wistful look : 
all the furrows, and indeed the entire expression of his 
countenance, conveying the impression of a melancholy that 
was almost tragic in its depth. 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS 


283 


I’m uncomfortable in me mind about’ee^ faather ; tha’s 
a fact/’ said Malva, coming out to the doorstep to him. I 
do feel that terrible queer an’ onaisy, as ef somethin’ whisht 
was hangin’ ovver thy head. Don’t’ee go to-day, faather ! ” 
she added, watching his face closely : ’tes more than thee 
can stand ; I’m sure thee arn’t fit for it.” 

I’m goin’,” said Ezekiel. 

" I thought laast night thee wert goin’ to have a fit, thee 
snored so hard and struggled and groaned so much,” said 
Malva. Thee wert grindin’ thy teeth ’most all the night. 
I was afraid to go to slaip haaf the time, tha’s a fact. In pain 
was’ee, faather : or Avas it onnly draims } ” 

“ Draims, onnly draims,” said Ezekiel gloomily. 

Still, don’t’ee go, faather ! ” pleaded Malva earnestly. 

I’m goin’,” said Ezekiel. ’Tes borne in on me mind 
there’s a message there waitin’ for me.” 

^^Wish Morvenna warn’t so poorly; then she cud go 
Aveth’ee,” said Malva uneasily. 

“ Wish, wish — I’m all’ys wishin’ — what do it amount to } ” 
quoth Ezekiel gloomily. I’m sick an’ tired o’ wishin’ : I 
must end it wan way or t’awther. Or — ef it do end me — 
w’ell, so be it ! What es to be, will be, s’pose,” he muttered : 
Avhether ’tes foretold for a man or a mouse.” 

And in this fatalistic mood he donned his Sunday gar- 
ments and sat down to dinner, which to-day was unusually 
early, as the service at Choone was to commence at three 
o’clock. 

In vain Mah'^a set before him the most tempting efforts of 
her cookery, Ezekiel protested that he had no appetite : he 
cudn’ ayte to save his life.” Just to please her, he tried to 
eat a mouthful or tAVO, but he seemed almost to choke in 
doing so, and finally he abandoned the attempt. 

It was evident that his excitement, though suppressed in 
outAvard manifestations, was overmasteringly strong inwardly 
and could with difficulty be suppressed. 

Malva made him a cup of tea, and this he managed to 
drink. But the trembling of his hand as he lifted the cup, 
and the convulsive movement of his lips as he swallowed the 


284 


EZEKIELS SIN 


first mouthful — the hysterical symptoms, however, being less 
marked afterwards — hinted significantly how deep was the 
agitation that shook him. 

In vain Malva referred more than once to Morvenna*s 
present — how pleased the cheeld ” would be with it and 
how nice it would look in her little parlour — Ezekiel was 
in a state of such extreme nervous tension that to the 
commoner moods of life it was impossible for him to unbend. 

He stared, and answered automatically’’ — w’hen he could 
remember to do so — and the queer catch ’’ in his voice and 
the odd misplacing of his words, were as noticeable as they 
had been on the black day of his collapse. 

^^Gi’ me crab-pot . . . me . . . I . . .'* he paused, 
staring helplessly. ^^You d’knaw what I mayne . . . me 
. . . that theer thing theer . . . Me hat,” he jerked out 
irritatedly at last. 

Malva watched him furtively, her heart achingly full of 
fears. Finally, when she had brushed him down and arranged 
his necktie to her satisfaction, she let him go forth in peace 
and set out on his pilgrimage. 

Malva went to the end of the row to watch him out of 
sight and followed him with her eyes till he was half-way up 
the valley, and was only a moving blotch (diminishing every 
moment) amid the long blur of greenery to which the valley 
dwindled at last. 

Ezekiel had not been gone more than half- an -hour 
when Mrs. Roscorla came to the door, her eyes quick with 
excitement. 

Heerd the news ’bout Tom the Hangman ? ” she called 
in to Malva, and followed up the question by entering the 
kitchen. 

No, you : what news ” Malva asked anxiously. 

Found dead up close to Cam Dhu,” said Mrs. Roscorla. 

" What ! found dead } ” cried Malva excitedly. 

Iss ; killed by the lightnin’ in that theer storm yesterday. 
Isaac heerd it this mornin’ up at the kiddly-wink.” ^ 


^ Beer-sLop. 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GOBS 


285 


How do they knaw he was killed by the lightnin’ ? ” 
asked Malva uneasily. 

He was found weth his clothes split all down the back, 
pon his face up among the ferns, an’ both his boots 
was busted off, split to rags, so they do say, an’ there was 
marks upon his body . . 

What sort o’ marks } ” 

" Dunnaw, I’m sure. Sort o' burns, s’pose, you. Anyhow, 
they marks on his skin an’ the awther things, they do 
prove plain enough he was killed by the lightnin’, the folks 
do say.” 

Well, he’ve gone to his account,” i said Malva, after a 
pause. "He waan’t be missed on earth for the good he 
done, at any rate.” 

" Tha’s true,” said Mrs. Roscorla : " he was wan o’ the 
Owld Wan’s dogs, ef ever there was wan.” And with that 
she fell to discussin<f the dead man and his failings and 
the many uncanny tales drifting around concerning him : 
Malva listening patiently, and occasionally joining in, but 
half the time making her attention to her household duties 
an excuse for remaining silent and thinking quietly to 
herself. 

The walk to Choone taxed Ezekiel’s strength to the utter- 
most. Long before he reached the end of the tramp, his 
knees began to weaken and "give way” markedly, and 
he was only able to progress with a jerky, sprawling gait 
not unlike that of incipient paralysis. He began to feel 
a vague fluttering dread of himself. His sense of self- 
control seemed ebbing away strangely ; and whole tracts 
of his personality appeared to be slipping from his grasp, 
crumbling away into the darkness and leaving him trem- 
blingly bewildered. He felt he wanted to cry out — the 
desire was so urgent that it frightened him — and, as he 
shambled along, he began to mutter brokenly to himself : 
wetting his lips and breathing heavily and with a gasping 
effort, while a strange dimming mistiness came and went 
across his eyes. 


^ Here used for "judgment. 


286 


EZEKIELS SIN 


When he arrived at the edge of Choone, he saw a young 
girl filling her jug at the " shoot.” ^ 

On Ezekiel^ in his thick and strangely slurred utterance, 
asking her to give him a drink of water, the girl at first 
seemed to be inclined to run from him. 

But, on glancing at him again, she complied with his re- 
quest ; though her repugnant fear of him was very evident : 
her manner conveying the impression that she believed he 
was intoxicated. 

Ezekiel almost emptied the jug — drinking with a convul- 
sive fluttering of the lips, and with a deep, sighing thirst, 
like the panting of a hunted animal. And then, feeling to 
a certain extent freshened and re-invigorated, he made his 
way slowly to the heart of the village. 

Choone this afternoon was full of moving people. All the 
cottage doors were open, and ruddy-faced wives in their 
Sunday clothes, and children in snowy pinafores with their 
little cheeks shining, were everywhere in evidence up and 
down the village street. Here and there knots of girls, 
and groups of growing lads, were congregated against the 
hedges or at the ends of the cottages, while young men and 
women (at the edge of, or in, the twenties) walked about 
in pairs, or in groups of threes and fours. Nearly a score 
carts and traps were scattered about the village : some with 
their shafts tilted up in the air, and some with the horses 
still unharnessed. And everywhere there was an air of 
movement and bustle : the stir and shuffle of moving feet ; 
the murmurous hum of many voices ; the sound of wheels, 
of horses’ hoofs, the clack of geese, the barking of dogs. 

Never before — except at feasten-tide — had Choone been 
so full of restless coming and going, or its atmosphere so 
saturated with the smell of cooking food. And certainly 
never before in the whole of its history — unless it were in 
the far-off days of the Wesleys — had the village echoed so 
incessantly with the hum of religious phrases and the singing 
of hymns up and down among its cottages. 

Many of the recent converts in Newly n had come up 
^ A small chute for conveyiug water from a spring. 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS 


287 


to Choone for to-day's special service — following the man 
whose impressive personality had so magnetised them — and 
many also of his casual and occasional hearers (some of 
them convicted ” but not yet converted/’ and others 
merely ^Mmpressed/' or in whom "the work had begun 
dimly ”) had followed him here to reneWj if that were pos- 
sible, the experience that previously had so bewildered and 
disquieted them. Consequently, long before the preacher 
arrived on the scene, the atmosphere was surcharged with 
spiritual electricity, and his congregation (at whatever time 
it might gather) was prepared to come together with nerves 
strung to concert-pitch, and with minds sensitised into a 
mood of unusual receptiveness. 

Up and down the village, arm-in-arm, the converts marched 
in little groups of twos and threes, singing hymns jubilantly 
expressive of their happiness, and lyrically inviting others to 
share the happiness if they would. 

Again and again they sang among the cottages ; — 

** No darkness have we who in Jesus abide : 

The Light of the world is Jesus! 

We walk in the light when we follow our Guide: 

The Light of the world is Jesus I 
Come to the Light, *tis shining for thee ; 

Sweetly the Light has dawned upon me — 

Once I was blind, but now I can see ! 

The Light of the world is Jesus ! ” 

Meanwhile others, not yet assured of their "liberation,” 
could be heard here and there "tuning” together as the}^ 
walked : — 

Pass me not, 0 gracious Father ! 

Sinful though my heart may be ! 

Thou mighlst leave me, but the rather 

Let Thy mercy light on me! 

Even me! 

Even me!'* 

Already Ezekiel had begun to feel in his veins the fever 
and the unrest that pervaded the village so noticeably : and 


288 


EZEKIEVS SIN 


as he wandered up and down and to and fro among the 
groups, the grey old man, shambling along so painfully, 
looked (as more than one remarked) like a man half 
mazed.” 

Presently, the cry began to travel to and fro, ^^Mester 
Naesmith es in sight ! The praicher es cornin’ ! ” 

And immediately every one began to hurry to the further 
end of the village, where the tiny granite chapel stood close 
to the edge of the moor. 

The chapel forms had been brought out and arranged on 
the grass, and many of the cottagers had lent chairs and the 
forms used in the chimney-corners, so that altogether there 
were seats for about three hundred people, while as many 
more as cared to could stand around on the grass. 

Obtaining a seat near the waggon in which the minister 
was to stand (in order that he might be seen and heard 
of all) Ezekiel sank down heavily on the form ; by this time 
feeling completely exhausted : his heart, the while, slowing to 
such a point of feebleness that he almost lapsed away into 
a faint. 

Preaching to-day with the glamour of his past success on 
him, with his converts the while gazing up at him yearn- 
ingly, and with his own strong will bracing him to the 
utmost, Mr. Naesmith, for all his physical weakness, had his 
audience, so to speak, in the hollow of his hand. 

The congregation, from the moment it gathered in front 
of him, was emotionally quick in all its members, and was 
as hungry to receive the impress of his personality as he was 
to fashion it into the mood for retaining this. 

The first hymn sung at once put the twain in touch : and 
from that moment the preacher on the one hand, and the 
congregation on the other, were as the air and the harmony 
to a piece of music so impressive that scarcely any one could 
have listened to it without a tremor of the heart. 

But Ezekiel all this entirely escaped. 

He heard the preacher’s voice thrusting forward and 
receding at intervals, and all around him the rising and 
falling of the great waves of sound, and he was dimly aware 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS 


289 

of the wide dome of blue overhead, with the crows flapping 
heavily as they winged their way across it, and now and then 
cawing dissonantly, like his own discordant thoughts. And 
deep in his heart he had the feeling that this unimpressed 
dulness, this curse of spiritual deadness that kept him 
unquickened even now, was the punishment fated for him 
while he was on earth — fated for him that from hell he mio:ht 
in nowise escape. 

He had the idea that Satan had a kind of personal hanker- 
ing after him ; was his direct and private enemy, much as 
Tom the Hangman was, and would therefore do everything 
that lay in His power to deaden his spiritual impulses and to 
retain him for Himself. 

Therefore, while the other members of the congregation 
seemed to rise to emotional ecstasy, or to agonise in spiritual 
pain, it appeared to Ezekiel only natural that he, and he 
alone, should remain as cold and unimpressed as if the 
preacher, thundering at him, were merely an old black crow 
cawing idly over his head. 

The singing had long been over and the sermon was now 
in full swing, and all the time Ezekiel, sitting here quaking, 
watched the strange surging passion that possessed certain of 
the convicted” — their sobbing cries for mercy, their hyste- 
rical agony of emotion — watched it with a sense of deadness 
that made him tremble at himself. 

Presently, however, the incessant stir around him — the 
frenzied appeals, the emotional ebullience, the intense spiritual 
agitation — seemed to break through the spell that had kept 
him hitherto like a clod. 

A sudden poignant clearness illuminated his brain : and 
Ezekiel, though still ignorant of the secret influences acting 
on him, was caught in the magic net even as the others, and 
felt his heart shake and flutter at the strange effect produced. 

He began, now, to listen keenly to the sobbing cries of 
those around him — to the passionate prayers and pleadings, 
the agonised attempts to clutch at faith — and when one 
here and another there, and a third somewhere in the 
crowd, began to shout in ecstasy that he was forgiven ! ” 

T 


290 


EZEKIELS SIN 


that God had cleansed him ! ** then EzekieVs heart, also, 
leaped in momentary exultation . . . and he was horrified 
at his sinfulness . . . and he fell a-quakiiig for himself. 

At last, the fountains of the great deep within him were 
broken up — he was stirred to the depths of his nature — he 
throbbed and agonised with the rest. 

Just at this juncture the preacher was dilating on secret 
sins : on the barriers that had to be broken through before 
a man could obtain forgiveness : on the things that kept 
him from the Mercy-seat and held him fettered to the 
Devil’s chariot — the chariot that was dragging him steadily 
down the slippery road to Hell. 

^^Yes,” said the preacher, with a solemn impressiveness, 
‘‘ it is the man of the hidden sin who is the hardest to save. 
The open sinner — the man whose evil deeds are notorious — 
has less to cast off when he is running for his life : when 
he turns his back on Satan and makes for the Mercy-seat. 
The world knows him for what he is, and no one is startled 
by his confession ; heavy though his pack may be, it has 
always been in sight. He can run, and run frenziedly, to 
save the soul he has learned to value ; and no one lifts an 
eyebrow, or points the finger at him. They will clear the 
roadway for him, they will hearten him all the way. 

^^But the man with the hidden sin — the secret thing that 
no one knows of — for him to run for his life, and in the face 
of his friends, how difficult ! And for him to be saved — 
God help him ! — this is the hardest task of all ! 

“ Hardest because of himself, I mean. Not hard to the 
Infinite Mercy. For the Lord is compassionate always;” 
his voice was tremulous with human tenderness: ^“^able* 
and ^ willing ’ always to save to the uttermost. To save to 
the uttermost,” he cried, and in his voice there was the 
ring of a trumpet, whoever may be the sinner, and what- 
ever may be the sin ! ” 

He paused again, to take breath, and broke into a fit of 
coughing, after which he resumed more quietly, like one 
pleading with a friend, ^^Let no man because his sin is 
hidden, as he imagines, believe that it is hidden entirely — 


THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS 


291 


even from his fellow-men. From God it is not hidden : and 
this the sinner knows. From the Devil it is not hidden : 
and this he recognises dimly. But even here, among his 
fellows, there may be those who know of his transgression : 
some one who, all unknown, even saw the sin committed. 
Some one, perhaps, who has not hitherto laid an arresting 
hand on the sinner’s shoulder : but who is waiting . . . wait- 
ing to do so . . . and may do it eve?i to-day !” 

Ezekiel was trembling violently, and was white with ex- 
citement : the great beads of perspiration standing thickly 
on his brow. He was breathing loudly and heavily, with 
his mouth half open ; his eyes were staring wildly ; and his 
face was painfully drawn. And his gaze was riveted on 
the preacher with such concentrated intensity that he was 
entirely oblivious of every one else. 

I, myself,” continued the preacher, was once the wit- 
ness of a secret sin, whose actor, up to the present, has 
remained hidden from his fellow-men. But there were two 
who saw his crime, and set it down in the book of memory, 
and at the judgment-seat of God, if that man be still 
impenite*.it, we shall witness against him to his condemna- 
tion . . . that other and myself. 

He was a crabber, from one of the coves in this 
neighbourhood, and he was fishing yonder out in the bay one 
spring evening about sunset; and I was wandering on the 
cliff simply feasting on the scene and studying, through a 
telescope, the occasional vessels that came in sight. Pre- 
sently, for lack of something better to stare at, I chanced 
to level my glass at the crabber in bis boat : and lo ! there 
was the man at the sin that would damn him ! ” 

To be saved es impossible for me ! ” thought Ezekiel, in 
his agony : “ Tom the Hangman was the Devil — this es God 
condemning me now ! ” 

Being far out from land, and no craft within sight of him, 
the man no dpubt thought that he was secure from observa- 
tion : and when he sent the body adrift, after he had robbed 
it, he doubtless imagined that his sin was known only to 
himself. 


^92 


EZEKIELS SIN 


But God knew of it ; ayj and the Devil watched it 
gleefully — here is one soul more for my net, he would think 
— and the man who stood beside me, he was aware of it even 
as I was. 

Yet the crabber, the secret sinner, hugged the thought 
that he was unseen ! 

"In this faith he has lived — a secret sinner — up to the 
present ; and in this faith (if impenitent) he will die and go 
to the judgment. 

" He will die,’" he paused impressively, lingering weightily 
on every word,” and he will pass into the torments that have 
been prepared for the unrepentant — where the worm dieth 
not, and the fire is not quenched ! 

" I have often thought of that man — that secret, hidden 
sinner — often thought of him, and prayed for him, and 
wondered often who he might be. 

It is possible that I have met him, I may have spoken to 
him in the streets ; I may even have held his hand in the 
fellow'^ship of the meeting-house. It is possible, for aught I 
know, that he may be here before me now ! ” 

There was a loud, hoarse cry, almost like a scream of 
agony, and up sprang Ezekiel lifting his hand to Heaven 
wildly and trying to articulate something, no one could make 
out what. 

The people stared at him bewildered, many thinking he 
must be crazy : there was a sudden movement of white faces : 
a sudden craning of necks. 

" Iss . . . ” cried Ezekiel, his eyes blazing with excitement, 
his tongue tripping and stumbling, a strange contortion 
attacking his features. " Iss . . . ” and then he gave an odd, 
gasping gurgle. He swayed to and fro drunkenly, vainly 
endeavouring to articulate . . . and then he fell back help- 
lessly (his head hanging on his shoulders) into the arms that 
were thrust out hastily to hold him up and break his fall. 


THE HILLS OF REST 


293 


CHAPTER XLV 

THE HILLS OF REST 

Malva was braver than either of her daughters had dared to 
hope that she would be. She felt that she was nearer the end 
of life than they were, for her the Hills of Rest were now 
almost within sight, and she faced death, and the inevitable 
parting, with less of the anguish of rebellion — with a surer 
and clearer knowledge of the calm she was nearing steadily 
— than those whose lives stretched out before them in a 
succession of years that seemed endless. They might have a 
lifetime to regret and remember in — if they could remember 
and regret so long — at most, her time of trial would be only 
for a few years : and might not even be so much, if the 
burden were beyond her strength. In this brevity she saw 
her comfort : after all, “ it was not for long ! 

^ Ezekiel never recovered consciousness : not even for a 
moment. He simply lay among the clean sheets motionless 
and pallid, his life ebbing away from him at every breath 
that he drew. 

The scantily furnished room, with its signs everyw^here of 
a starved existence — of a life rude, and simple, and hard 
exceedingly — had already faded from his eyes, of which the 
lids would never lift again : and in the sombre quiet and 
solitude, born of old age and poverty, he lay now helplessly 
w’aiting for the end. 

'^Poor owld Ezekiel es dyin’,” said the neighbours in the 
row', as they glanced up at the window breaking through 
the thatch, a softening mist of memories falling on their 
hearts. 

Iss, poor owld saul, dyin^ as w'e all must.*’ 

^^Well, he’ve lived honestly an* respectably, an’ done no 
harm to no wan. He’ve arned his rest, poor saul, ef ever a 
man ded.” 


294 . 


EZEKIELS SIN 


" Iss, that he have. God be good to un at the laast ! 

And old Isaac Roscorla^ who was standing among the others, 
said softly, ‘‘Amen !** as if it had been a prayer. 

With many a heartache and many a disquieting flutter of 
the pulse, Ezekiel Trevaskis, as long as he could remember, 
had been pursuing Happiness and her Sister down the dusty 
road of life. But neither had ever thrilled him with the 
enchantment of her kiss. Nor had he ever been able to 
get near enough even to touch their garments. Always 
they had shone ahead of him — as he toiled on weighted 
with his pack of anxieties — as distant and as unattainable 
as heaven and its stars. Now, however, as he lay here help- 
lessly dying, into the room had come the Sisters and, with 
infinite tenderness, had pressed upon his brow their consoling 
kiss of peace. And from henceforth the crabber’s sufferings 
were as a shadow that has passed away. For a little while, 
life might still struggle in him mechanically, but no more 
would he know pain, nor any unhappiness : there had been 
bestowed upon him, once for all, the sacrament of the 
final peace. 

Malva had decided that while a breath of life remained 
in his body, she would not leave “ her man ” alone, even 
for a minute. 

For the first half of the night Drusilla watched with her 
mother, but about midnight Malva urged her, and indeed 
compelled her, to go to bed. 

Morvenna had begged hard to be allowed to sit up with 
them, but to this Malva could by no means be brought to 
consent. ^^Fll call’ee later on, me dear, when I do see 
a change,” she remarked, smoothing the girl’s hair with 
indescribable tenderness. “ Thee shall set weth me later on, 
when Drusilla do go to bed.” 

But when Drusilla, on retiring, asked if she should send 
in Morvenna — the sisters to-night were to sleep together 
in the old room of their girlhood — her mother said “ No ! ” 
and held to her decision. “ Lev’ the poor cheeld have her 
slaip out,” said she gently. Sorrow’ll come soon enough 
to her — she waan’t escape her share of it. She got all 


THE HILLS OF REST 


295 


her life to go through, poor cheeld, as it es. Keep the 
bitter taste out of her mouth so long as the Lord’ll lev’ 
us. Lev’ her slaip — lev’ her slaip!” and she would not be 
gainsaid. 

Alone with her man at last, and secure from observation, 
Malva tremulously bent over him and whispered into the 
deaf ears that his old, cruel enemy, Tom the Hangman, was 
dead ! 

It was a piece of news that for hours she had been 
hungering, with intense eagerness, to drop into the well 
of his thoughts, if it were possible. And she whispered 
it to him now, and repeated it over again to him, with 
a loving earnestness as pathetic as it was doomed to be 
unavailing. 

Although there was no response from the drawn white 
face, with its lids closed heavily and its slowly paling lips, 
the mere thought that she had told him — as she persisted in 
believing she had done — seemed to ease and quiet Malva 
like the lifting of a burden. Eased and quieted her as, she 
hoped, it had eased and quieted him. 

She had a couple of tallow candles alight on the chest-of- 
drawers, and the Bible and the Wesleyan hymn-book she 
had placed close to Ezekiel’s pillow, where she could touch 
them with her hand (reverently and half affectionately) 
whenever she felt the need for this simple bit of comfort. 
She was unable to read a word, never having been taught 
her letters, but the ^^good books” were near him, and their 
presence was like a prayer. 

Once she kissed the Bible, and then laid it to Ezekiel’s 
lips : and once or twice she let his cold hand lie on it 
heavily. 

The poor old mother, in her ignorance and her inarticulate 
love, seemed to feel comforted by the mere thought that her 
dying husband should thus come into contact, if only for a 
moment, with the ^'good books” both of them had held in 
such reverence : as though virtue must go out of them into 
the sorely stricken body that was now struggling so feebly 
to hold the slipping sands of life. 


EZEKIELS SIN 


296 

About an hour before the dawn, something white entered 
the bedroom, and Malva gave a low cry of terror : half 
believing for the moment that it was one of her dead children, 
come (surely out of love ! ) to fetch his poor father — come to 
pilot him home through the unknown paths. 

Hush, mother ! ” whispered Morvenna, who had stolen 
in in her white night-dress. Hush ! I can't sleep — I can't, 
mother, really ! Will you let me sit with you, if I dress Do, 
mother ! " she pleaded tenderly. 

" Well . . . me dear . . . thee may ; ef thee caan't slaip 
railly." 

So Morvenna stole back softly to her sleeping sister’s 
bedroom : and soon glided back again, now fully dressed. 

For the next hour the two women sat beside the dying 
man, each holding a hand caressingly in hers, and watch- 
ing him lovingly as the breath ebbed slowly out of his 
body. 

Shortly before sunrise, Malva, her face contorted with the 
terrible strain of her anguish, came heavily into the bedroom 
where Drusilla was sound asleep. 

‘‘ Quick ! " cried Malva, tugging at the bedclothes to 
waken her. 

Drusilla rose bolt upright in an instant, her long hair 
streaming over her shoulders. 

Come quick ! " Malva called to her, in a low, trembling 
whisper. " The change have come ! Quick 1 Thy poor 
faather es passin’ ! — He’s passin’, poor dear I ” she wailed, 
and hurried from the room. 

Drusilla was out of the bed in an instant, almost before 
Malva had cleared the door; and ran at once — barefooted, 
and in her white, fluttering night-dress — into the chamber 
where Ezekiel, still mercifully unconscious, was now pass- 
ing into the shadow, with Morvenna hanging above his 
lips. 

But as Drusilla reached the bed and bent over the whiten- 
ing face, the final breath ebbed away, and Ezekiel’s jaw 
dropped helplessly. 

A heavy sea-fog enveloped the cove : out of the windows 


THE HILLS OF REST 


297 


nothing could be seen except the dense white mist : while 
the moan of the departing tide was audible mournfully in all 
the cottages, as if a distant, muffled dirge were being intoned 
solemnly along the coast. 

The white sea-mist and the moaning of the tide, it was to 
these accompaniments that the soul of Ezekiel passed forth 
now on its lonely wayfaring : to what bourne, or sorrowful 
homelessness, who shall take on himself to say ? 


THE END 


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